The Loving Kind
by thimbles
Summary: There were nine words on the square of paper. Nine simple words that I have waited over a year to hear: "I was wrong. I miss you. I love you." My biggest mistake was falling in love with Bella. My second was telling her.
1. Chapter 1

**_The Loving Kind: Prologue_.**

**A/N: Wait, what? Didn't I say my new story would be called **_**Expectations**_**? I did. But then this story took life in my brain and so it's being told first. I haven't abandoned my other idea; this one was just more insistent!**

**The lovely believeitornot has very kindly agreed to look over my chapters before they go live, which is just lovely. I essentially wrote **_**What I Wished For**_** in a vacuum, so it's really special having someone to bounce ideas off. So, thank you, Tamara, truly.**

**(And if you haven't read her amazing story, **_**The Other Side of Me**_**, you ought to go do it right now. She handles a very distressing subject with such grace and sensitivity.)**

**Okay, if you've read anything I've written, its no secret Bobby Long is a constant source of inspiration for me. He's an amazing artist, a truly brilliant poet. Recently, he added a Song of the Week on his website called **_**The Loving Kind**_**. It's beautiful, and I just HAD to write a story based upon it.**

**I disclaim: StephMeyer owns **_**Twilight**_**, and Bobby Long owns **_**The Loving Kind**_**.**

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><p><strong>Please be advised: this story will contain strong language and sexual content, as well as discussion of depression and suicide. PM me if you need to know more before you read on.<strong>

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><p><em>I gave her it all<br>__I'd take it back again  
><em>_And every single word I spoke  
><em>_She ruined by running off her mouth_

_She cursed and swore at me  
><em>_For bringing her back down to earth  
><em>_I only wanted her to see  
><em>_The things I left lying around_

_Oh Lord, I thought I wasn't the loving kind  
><em>_And I loved her, oh, I loved her  
><em>_At least now I know I have a heart  
><em>'_Cos it's hurting, oh it's hurting now  
><em>_Oh she's not the loving kind  
><em>_Oh she's not the loving kind_

_She kept me far from touch  
><em>_And she kept me just a little too long  
><em>_She used to laugh at me  
><em>_But she laughed, she laughed when she was wrong_

_Oh Lord, I thought I wasn't the loving kind  
><em>_And I loved her, oh I loved her  
><em>_At least now I know I have a heart  
><em>'_Cos it's hurting, oh it's hurting now  
><em>_Oh she's not the loving kind; oh no she's not  
><em>_Oh she's not the loving kind; oh no she's not_

Bobby Long_, The Loving Kind._

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><p>I stare stupidly at the crumpled piece of paper in my hand.<p>

For three days, I've been staring at it.

Trying to imagine how she would speak the words.

Tracing my fingertips over the strokes made by her pen.

Crumpling it up.

Tossing it in the trash.

Retrieving it.

Carefully smoothing out the creases.

There are three lines of an all too familiar scrawl spread across it. Her messy scribble is as familiar to me as my own neat hand. I can see her in my mind's eye; the odd way she holds her pen, her thumb curling up over the top of her third finger; the silly spin she perfected after months and months of frustration and pens flying across our table; the tilt of her head as she watches the words emerge from the nib.

I wonder if she was smiling as she wrote these lines. Or was she crying? Sobbing, as I did when I first caught sight of them? Perhaps her face was set with the look of stubborn determination that she wore so well?

I wonder how many times she set her pen to paper before she finally slid it under my door. Did she spend hours, days, and weeks agonizing over it? Or did she simply determine what she needed to do, and carry it out with the ruthless efficiency with which she left me?

And why now?

Why did these words come now, when I finally thought I could move on and be happy without her? When she finally stopped haunting my dreams. When I'd finally shaken her grip from my every waking hour.

Every single step forward I'd made in her absence was obliterated as soon as I caught sight of the note on my doorstep. As soon as I saw the letters of my name spelled out in her hand, she re-exerted the terrible power she has always had over me. Before I even saw the contents of her letter, she reclaimed my heart and my soul.

It took me an hour to find the courage to flip it open. What could she possibly have to say to me? Would I survive hearing it? Had she written to justify herself? Had she written to apologize? Or to tell me how much better off we were this way?

When I finally flipped the folded piece of paper open, the pain that ripped through me brought me to my knees. Every wound that had slowly healed in our time apart was torn wide open once again. Unable to breathe, I found myself a sobbing, shaking mess on my kitchen floor.

Three lines, each made up of three simple words.

Nine simple words; words I have waited over a year to hear.

_**I was wrong.  
><strong>__**I miss you.  
><strong>__**I love you.**_

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><p>My hands shake as I flip the note over once again. My fingers tremble as I dial the number she's scrawled across the back.<p>

I don't breathe as the obnoxious _bring-bring_ sounds through the speaker.

My heart thumps wildly as the call connects.

"This is Bella," her voice is soft, gentle, different.

"Bella?" I choke on her name.

Silence.

Panic.

"Edward." I hear the tremor in her voice.

Relief swells through me, drowning me.

Hope, a feeling I have all but banished from my existence, swells anew in my breast. I beat it down ferociously.

"I got your note," I blurt out, made stupid by fear.

Bella does not answer. I hear her sniffle before her soft sobs begin in earnest.

Three days ago, I would have told myself she deserved to feel the same pain she had inflicted on me. I believed I would have felt a sense of righteous satisfaction in hearing her break down, at hearing her regret made plain.

And yet now, confronted with the desperation and pain in her choking cries, my convictions are proved false.

I cannot bear it. I do not feel even the slightest amount of fulfillment in hearing her pain. I cannot delight in her sadness.

"Sweetheart, don't cry," I beg.

"Edward."

"I'm here."

"Edward."

"Bella, I'm here."

"I'm s-s-so sorry, Edward. I was wrong. I … I was so t-terribly wrong, and I'm so very sorry."

The words are out of my mouth before I even have a chance to think them through.

"I forgive you."

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><p><strong>Phew.<strong>

**Getting to know new characters is scary.**

**Please let me know your thoughts!**

**I'm hoping, at this stage, to update fortnightly. I'm up to my ears in biochemistry at the moment, though the more I study, the more the creative side of my brain rebels and wants to write. **

**Love, Shell xx**

**P.S. I have a beautiful banner, courtesy of the amazingly talented Frozen Soldier. If you would like to see it, head to shespeaksintype(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)au – just replace (dot) with "."**


	2. The Fear: June  August 2008

**Chapter 1: The Fear**

**A/N: I want to say an enormous thank you to believeitornot, who possesses a fine-toothed comb and a beautiful spirit. She helps me pretend to be American and is also a total sweetheart. ILY, Tam.**

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><p><strong>June – August 2008.<strong>

**Song: **_**The Fear**_**, Ben Howard.**

"_**I've been worryin', I will become what I deserve."**_

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><p><strong>June.<strong>

The frantic pounding on my bedroom door violently tears me from a heavy sleep. The urgency behind the hammering has me on my feet before I'm even conscious. I'm disoriented; I barely manage to keep the panic caged in my chest at the insistent tattoo of fist against wood. My eyes shoot around the room wildly, looking for something, anything, on which I can depend in order to center myself.

A sliver of warm, golden light seeps from under the blinds. This doesn't help me; all it tells me is that it's not nighttime. I can't remember what day it is, or when it was that I crawled into the sweet oblivion of sleep.

"What's going on?" The sleepy murmur from the bed behind me causes me to jump in surprise. Vibrant red curls spill across my pillow; white skin entangled in the dark blue of my sheets. Fuck. I can't even remember how she ended up here, let alone what her name might be.

"I don't know." I'm short with her. She probably doesn't deserve it, but I'm disappointed in myself and I'm taking it out on her. I grab a pair of shorts and slide them on quickly. "You should probably head out, though," I tell her. I try to gentle my tone, but I don't think I'm successful.

Avoiding eye contact with the unidentified redhead sprawled across my bed, I fling open the door, which is still shaking under the urgent strikes of someone's fists.

Jasper.

"What the fuck, man?" I demand.

Jasper says nothing, and I try to force my bleary eyes to focus on his face. He looks awful: bloodshot eyes, his skin sallow and drawn, his blond hair matted and greasy. It would be easy to assume that he's simply dealing with the same hangover that I'm enduring; if it weren't Jazz, that is.

Looking closer, I can see the grime on his cheeks is streaky, the dried tracks of tears leaving their impression on his skin.

"What happened?" I ask, lowering my voice.

Jazz opens and closes his mouth a few times, before he shakes his head, unable to articulate whatever it is that has him so distraught.

"Come on, man." My hand finds his shoulder as I lead him toward the kitchen. Still trying to orient myself, my eyes flick towards the windows and then the clock. It's early morning, a little after seven. The summer sun is already streaming through the windows, bathing the silent kitchen in yellow and gold as I set about brewing us some coffee.

Placing a steaming mug in front of Jazz, I slump into a chair at the kitchen table opposite him. As I sit, the redhead, now fully clothed, slips into the room. She looks at me, and I cringe, expecting reproach and accusations.

"Look, uh, I'm sorry –"

"For what?" she asks, surprised.

"I don't normally –"

"Yeah, I know," she smiles. "You told me about eighty-four times last night. Obviously, you don't remember that; but, ah, don't worry, you made things pretty clear."

"Uh, right." Rather than looking at the redhead, I stare at my hands as they wrap around my coffee mug.

"Anyway," she continues, "I have to go now. Uh, I might see you around, or not."

"Sure. Uh, bye." I grimace at my awkward response. What am I supposed to say? Thanks for having meaningless, and apparently very forgettable, sex with me and then leaving without making a scene?

The sound of the front door closing snaps me back to more pressing matters.

"What's going on, Jazz?"

Jasper looks at his coffee as he speaks, his voice quiet but harsh. The usual rhythmic cadence of his speech is absent as he chokes out the words.

"Angie left me. She wants … she wants a divorce, Edward. She says – fuck – she says she's met someone and she wants to marry … him."

The silence hangs over us heavily as my brain tries to make sense of his words.

"Shit, Jazz … I'm – I'm sorry man, that's just … awful." I realize the inadequacy of the words as soon as they leave my mouth. What the fuck am I supposed to say when my best friend tells me his wife of three years has decided she wants to marry someone else?

"What? How …?" I let my voice trail off, unsure as to whether I should ask the questions that come to mind or not.

"A guy she works with," Jasper explains quietly. "He always seemed like a good guy. I've met him a few times. He was one of the few people she worked with that I could actually get a long with." I curse under my breath as Jasper continues to explain.

"Angie hasn't been happy for a while, and I think it started as an emotional affair," he sighs, defeated. "She claims she tried to fight her attraction to him for a really long time, but I don't know, man ... She, uh, she said she's only slept with him a few times."

"_Only_ a few times?" I echo in disbelief.

I can't really understand how Jazz is so calm about it; sure, he's obviously really upset, but I'm pretty confident I'd be throwing shit and punching holes in walls if I found out my wife was screwing another guy behind my back.

"What are you going to do, man?" I ask, trying to keep my voice calm and sympathetic.

"What can I do?" he asks, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "She thinks we married too young, before we even really knew what we wanted out of life. I'm hurt man, of course, but what can I do? Beg her to stay with me? I don't know if I even want to try any more. I don't know if I could forgive her for this, even if she pleaded with me to give her another chance. Shit, Edward, I've been bending over backwards trying to make her happy, but maybe, I just … can't. Maybe this guy is whom she needs. I can't begrudge her that."

"I'm pretty sure you can," I argue. "There's no way she can justify fucking another guy while she's married to you."

Jazz flinches.

"I know that, Edward."

"Why aren't you angry?" I blurt out. "Why aren't you raging and swearing and calling her names?"

Jasper's steel blue eyes meet mine briefly, and then flick back to staring at his untouched coffee.

"Oh, believe me, I've done that," he sighs. "You should see our apartment … But what does it help? Screaming, punching the walls … it didn't make me feel any better."

I don't really have an answer to that, so I remain silent.

"I guess you were right, Edward," he sighs.

"Jazz –"

"Nah, I'm serious man, you told me we were too young. You told me we needed to grow up first. But I was so convinced Ange was my soul-mate."

"Jazz –"

"Since she confronted me yesterday morning, all I could think was … Edward was right. You said it was stupid to get married right outta high school. And you were right, man. We were so young and stupid. And now, I'll be divorced before I turn twenty-three. It just … it fucking sucks."

I fist my hands in my hair, tugging at it roughly. It makes me feel like shit to hear Jasper repeating those words back at me, even if they did prove to be prophetic. When he told me he planned on proposing to Angela after graduation, I told him he was a fucking idiot and that they'd be divorced before he was even able to legally drink. It's not something I'm proud of, and as soon as they were out of my mouth I wished I could swallow them and take them back. Jazz has never held them against me, and less than six months later, I stood beside him as he married Angela.

"Jazz, man. You know I don't take any satisfaction from that. I was young and stupid when I said it. Hell, I'm still young and stupid. What the fuck do I know about what it takes to make a marriage work? Or who can make it work and who can't? So if you're looking for me to say 'I told you so,' it's not going to happen."

"I appreciate that," Jazz mutters dryly.

"Do you, uh, do you need somewhere to stay?" I ask, hesitantly.

"Nah. Angela is moving out right now. I'm gonna keep our flat, and she's going to move in with Ben."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Silence surrounds us, stretching on interminably. I fidget uncomfortably, searching for any words of comfort I could offer my best friend. I quickly realize there are none.

"Look, Jazz. There's nothing I can say to make this easier on you man, but you know … I, uh, I love you like a brother, and I'll always be here for you."

Jasper shoves his filthy blond curls out of his eyes; his blue eyes, which are nearly as familiar to me as my own reflection, regard me seriously.

"Yeah. I know, Edward."

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><p><strong>July.<strong>

The two months that follow Jasper and Angela's split are awkward at best, as lifelong friends struggle to work through suddenly shifting relationships. I don't speak to Emmett for two weeks after his girlfriend, Leah, invites Angela and Ben over for dinner. I'm furious; as far as I'm concerned, it's too damned soon for everyone to be playing nice with them. In my eyes, Leah's invitation is tantamount to an endorsement of Angela's behaviour.

Jasper urges us not to throw away fifteen years of friendship over his failed marriage, but it's just not that simple. We're a close-knit group, many of us having gone through school together.

Hell, Jasper, Emmett and I have known each other since we were five years old. A week into kindergarten, our teachers were shaking their heads at "the three mustakeers" – it's a hard freaking word to say when you're five – and feeling pretty damn relieved they weren't going to have to deal with us when puberty and hormones started kicking in. Angela, Jess and Tanya have been around for as long as I can remember, though we had no interest in having anything to do with them until the aforementioned hormones made their presence known.

Mike, Tyler and Eric joined our group in middle school, as did Lauren and Irina, and we've survived a whole lot together. We all pulled together when Mike's parents split when we were in sixth grade, and again when Eric's parents followed suit in tenth grade. We all teased Lauren mercilessly when her parents unexpectedly gave her a baby brother when she was thirteen, and we grieved together in our senior year, when a drunk driver robbed Irina of her dad.

We shared all our firsts as a group. Smoking our first cigarette, stealing our first sip of beer, passing around our first joint. Every single one of us had our first kiss and our first relationship within our circle, and, though we've never really discussed it, I'm pretty sure nearly all of us lost our virginity within our group.

Now, we are all uncertain as to how to deal with this new rift; Jazz and Angela are the only couple that survived high school, and since then, the rest of our friends have always dated outside our circle. When their relationships ended, we just pulled together and supported each other. With Jasper and Angela though, people are almost compelled to take sides, to choose which of our friends they will support through this time. Our 'Monday Night Trivia' sessions at the local pub cease, and we all start avoiding our regular haunts.

Having spent the last fifteen years surrounded by a boisterous and eclectic group of friends, I suddenly find myself feeling incredibly lonely. I try not to wallow in it, reminding myself that it's Jasper who is truly suffering here. Oddly enough, though, Jasper seems to struggle the least with his newly separated status. I honestly can't comprehend how he can be so accepting of the situation.

Jazz, Garrett, and I find a new brewery to spend our Monday nights in. Garrett hasn't been around for as long as many of our other friends, so he doesn't feel conflicted the way many do. I moved into one of the rooms he was renting out when I started college, wanting some space from my parents, and he met Jasper through me. I introduced him to all my friends, but it was only ever Jazz and me that he really got along with.

As we sip our stouts, my oldest friend claps me on the shoulder, his gaze concerned.

"How you holding up, Masen?"

"Eh, I'm alright," I shrug. "They've got me pulling long days, but I'm going to have to get used to that after I graduate, anyway. Plus, money is money, and I spend most of the day fiddling with numbers, which I enjoy."

I'm spending the summer interning with one of the bigger multinational banks as part of my degree program. As I noted, it involves longer hours than I'm used to, but it's not like I have anything better to do at the moment. Usually, I'd be bitching about my summer internship, but this year, it's a relief to have to head off to work each day, rather than negotiate my newly fractured social circle. Plus, it's good money, and it'll look good on my résumé.

"That's cool. But that's not what I meant, dude. I meant as far as all the shit that's gone down with Angela, and our friends."

"What?" I look from Jasper to Garrett, perplexed. "What's it matter how I'm holding up, Jazz? How are _you_ holding up?"

Jasper and Garrett exchange a glance; Garrett's raised eyebrows clearly a silent 'I told you so.'

"I'm doing okay," Jazz shrugs. "It's hard, of course it is. I miss her. Three years of marriage, after four years dating … it's a long time, man. I can't really remember life without her in it. But, I don't know, I'm taking it as an opportunity to work out what I really want in life, you know?"

I blink at Jasper, once again baffled by his philosophical attitude to the situation.

"I don't understand, Jazz. Really? How can you be so upbeat about this?"

Jasper sighs before he answers.

"I know you don't understand, Edward. That's why I was asking how you're coping. You ... I don't know, man; you internalize everything in a way I don't. You … just … you _feel_ things more than most people."

"Not any more," I mutter.

"Bullshit. The pills level you out a bit, Edward, but you still feel shit way more intensely than most people – most dudes especially."

I say nothing in response. I think I'm offended; my buddy's calling me a hyper-emotional girl?

"Look, Edward. I'm not trying to insult you. We're just concerned. You've had a shitty year already, and I know the situation with our crew has to be messing with you."

I don't know what to say. Yeah, it sucks, hard, but so what? That's life. Yeah, I've lost touch with some of my closest and oldest friends because of Jazz and Angie's split, but who the hell am I to be so embittered by the situation? I'm not the one whose girl cheated and left me.

I sip my beer to avoid having to answer Jasper's question, ashamed of the fact that I'm actually not coping, at all. It's selfish and wrong, but I feel so fucking alone. Even sitting here with my closest friends, I'm disconnected from them. But I'm not going to admit it. I'm not going to tell them that I've spent hours staring blankly at the walls of my bedroom, lacking the energy to study, or even pick up my guitar. I'm not going to admit I'm selfish enough to feel completely ripped off, that Angela's walking out on Jazz has robbed me of some of my closest friends. I'm not going to add to the load already weighing down on Jasper.

I'm sickened by my own self-centeredness; I should be the one looking out for Jasper. I should have been the one to organize our new Monday night tradition. I should be the one asking these questions of him, calling him up, helping him keep busy, and making sure he feels supported.

Earlier this week I decided that I would never give a woman the power to do what Angela has done to Jasper. I swore I'd never fall in love, because falling in love is basically handing someone else the power to destroy you. Now, it occurs to me that this is not something I need to fear. I'm too damaged, too broken. There is nothing in me to love; nothing in me that would inspire a woman's affections. I'm not unaware of the fact that I'm considered good looking, but any woman that would be worth loving would see beyond my aesthetic charms to the ugliness in my mind. And as soon as she saw that, this hypothetical woman, as soon as she saw the pathetic, selfish little man that I truly am …. No, I do not need to fear being loved.

"I'm fine, Jazz." I finally answer. I feel a sharp pang as I condemn myself to a life of loneliness and casual relationships, but I quash it ruthlessly. "Really, I am. I'll be fine."

Jasper and Garrett exchange another glance, but this one I can't interpret.

"If you say so, man," Jasper concedes. He raises his glass and Garrett and I clink ours against his, a wordless toast to a new beginning.

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><p><strong>August.<strong>

"Masen! You got a minute?"

Hearing Garrett's voice causes me to panic momentarily; I'm thoroughly disoriented.

"What are you doing home so early?" I demand as I enter the kitchen.

Garrett frowns at me, pushing his sandy hair out of his face.

"Seriously, Edward? It's almost eight o'clock."

Shocked, I look at the clock on the oven door. It reads 21:32, so it is, in fact, almost 8pm.

"Fuck," I mutter. I've managed to lose two hours. Again.

Garrett studies me for a minute, before he shrugs and hands me a beer.

"Anyway. We gotta talk, mate."

"Sure, what's going on?"

"I found someone to take Mike's room."

"Cool." I shrug; it's Garrett's house, well, his mom's anyway, and as far as I'm concerned, he can invite whomever he wants to take the bedroom that Mike vacated last month.

"My cousin's going to move in next week."

"Alright."

Garrett says nothing for a few minutes, and I realize, surprised, that he's nervous.

"What aren't you telling me, man? What's his deal?"

"Her."

"What?"

"Her. My cousin. She's a girl. Bella."

"Right." I think that over briefly, before I shrug again. It's not really going to make much of a difference to me. I'll probably just give keep my distance, like I do with, well, everyone else.

"Yeah, her mum and mine are sisters."

"Right. So, I'm going to be able to understand her, then?" Garrett grew up in Australia, where his Dad lives. He only moved to the US three years ago for college, and his accent is still as strong and fucking annoying as ever.

"Fuck off. But, yeah, she's not from that side of the family. Her mum and mine are sisters."

"Alright."

"Listen, Edward. She's, well, I think she's kinda fucked up. So, just …"

"What? Just what?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

I roll my eyes.

"Garrett, I don't, and have never, fucked around half as much as you all seem to think I do. And whatever, dude. I won't fuck your cousin if that's what you're worried about. Anyway, if she looks anything like you … ugh!" I mock shudder, but Garrett doesn't take the bait. Instead, he sighs and refuses to make eye contact.

"It's not just that. I don't even really know her, Mase. She grew up in San Francisco; we've only met a half dozen times. From what Mum said, though, the last few years have been heaps awful for her. She's the same age as me, but she's just finished her first year of college, 'cos she took off to Europe for a few years after she finished school, backpacking and shit."

"Oh yeah, backpacking through Europe, I hear that's tough." Great, I think, another self-entitled princess.

Garrett raises his eyebrows at the bitterness in my tone.

"It's not my place to tell, champ, but let's just say she was running away from some pretty hectic stuff, okay?"

"Uh-huh. So, why is she moving here?"

"Mum says San Fran holds too many memories that she can't deal with or something. Apparently, she worked her arse off last year at some college back there, and did heaps well. So, she's starting her sophomore year here at Northwestern."

"Right."

Garrett sighs again, undoubtedly frustrated by my lack of response.

"Look, Garrett; it's fine. Seriously. I'm sure we'll hardly see each other. I'll respect her personal space. I'll even be friendly and polite when I have to. Okay? It's your house, man. As long as she's not in my face all the time, we won't have a problem."

Garrett frowns before he finally nods his head.

"Yeah, alright, man. If you say so. It's just ..." he trails off, his eyes refusing to meet mine.

"What, man?"

"Well, it's just, you know, things with Kate are going well, and I'll probably be staying there a few nights a week, so you'll be around Bella a fair bit by yourself."

"And?" I prompt, quirking an eyebrow at Garrett; whatever it is that's on his mind, he's not exactly being forthcoming about it, and it's starting to piss me off. Maybe this girl will turn out to be a pain in my ass, after all.

"Just. Could you just keep an eye on her? I know she can take care of herself, and my aunt says she's a heaps solitary person, but just, she's been through so much shit, so could you just, I don't know, just keep your eyes open?"

"You want me to babysit her? I'm sure she'll love that."

"No, man, that's not what I'm saying, hey? I'm saying, just – fuck, Edward …"

I frown, concerned at the anxiety I can sense in my usually laid-back roommate.

"Seriously, Edward. She's had to deal with shit neither of us could possibly imagine. And her Mum's heaps worried about her, hey? She can't stop her from moving away, so she suggested she move here, so at least she had some family around. She's just worried that Bella will try and deal with things in reckless ways."

"It's alright, man. I get it. I won't fuck her, and I'll make sure no one else fucks her up either."

"And whatever you do, Masen, don't tell her that her Mum or I asked you to keep an eye on her."

"Do I look stupid?" I ask, amused.

"Uh, yeah, you really do."

I flip Garrett the bird before I drain my beer.

"So, when does cousin Bella move in?"

"Next Tuesday, I think. So she'll have about three weeks to acclimate before the semester starts."

"Okay. Good."

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><p><strong>A few things ...<strong>

**I _can_ tell time. Trust me on this.**

**Secondly, a couple of people have contacted me regarding the level of angst in this story and the warning re: suicide, so I thought I'd just say this: I write about hope. Always. I will not leave you or my characters in despair.**

**Also, I will not detail a suicide. There will be a brief discussion about an incident in the past. I included the warning because it would break my heart to cause anyone any unnecessary distress.**

**I'd love to hear your thoughts about chapter one.**

**Shell xx**


	3. Big Eyes: Sept 08  Feb 09

**Chapter 2: Big Eyes**

**Note: Bella and Edward have a conversation of a controversial nature in this chapter. There's a reason they have it, and it's not to provide me with a vehicle in which to put my own opinions across. Consider Edward's reasoning for broaching the subject, please.**

**My most enormous thanks to _believeitornot_ for her thoroughness and patience. Go read her new story _In the Debris_; it's shaping up beautifully. ****Love you lots, Tam.**

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><p><strong>Song: <strong>_**Big Eyes**_**, Matt Corby.**

"_**Blackout the light**_  
><em><strong>Maybe you're tired fall<strong>_  
><em><strong>Or stone cold<strong>_

_**You fumble and fight**_  
><em><strong>With all the time you spend alone."<strong>_

* * *

><p><strong>September 2008.<strong>

As it transpires, I'm not home when cousin Bella moves in.

In fact, I don't even cross paths with her during the first few weeks she's around. I wouldn't have even been aware she actually moved in, if Garrett didn't mention it. There's no girly hair stuff left in the shower, no creams and lotions on the counter, or are any girls' shoes left kicked off in the hallway. I don't see her laundry lying around, and there's no trace of any books left in the living room.

It's, therefore, quite a surprise when I stumble into the kitchen in search of coffee on the first Monday of the new semester, to find a really cute ass poking out of the fridge. It's a really round and curvy ass, sitting snuggly in some dark wash jeans, and I kinda want to pinch it. I decide, however, that it's probably not the best way to introduce myself, so I keep my hands to myself.

"Uh, hi." I mumble as I head for the coffee pot. I have to stifle a laugh as she jumps in surprise, smacking her head on the roof of the refrigerator.

"Hi," she mutters, not looking in my direction. I watch her out of the corner of my eye as she emerges with a tub of yogurt. She's cute, I decide. Sun-streaked hair, tanned skin, soft curves. She throws me a wary glance as she takes a seat at the table.

"Coffee?" I offer.

"Uh, yeah. That'd be great." Her tone is cautious and I can't help but smirk. I can't decide if her short answers are due to shyness, or whether she's just an antisocial bitch. I'll give her the benefit of the doubt, though. Garrett did say she'd had a difficult few years.

When I place a mug of freshly brewed Nicaraguan coffee in front of her, she immediately reaches for the sugar.

"No!"

"What the fuck?" Cousin Bella jumps again at my outburst.

"Please," I cringe, "try it without sugar and milk first."

"Are you seriously going to tell me how to drink my coffee?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow at me.

"Just … " I sigh. "Please, just try it black first. If you still want to defile it then, I won't stop you."

Cousin Bella looks at me curiously, before she rolls her eyes and sighs.

"Fine."

I snort in amusement as she lifts the cup gingerly, eyeing it warily. I meet her dark eyes over the rim of my own mug, watching her expectantly. She takes a small sip, then swirls it around in her mouth exaggeratedly before she swallows it.

"Well?"

"It's really good," she mutters. She seems displeased about this and I grin at her as I take a seat. "You're one of those coffee snobs, right?"

"I guess," I shrug. "I like it, and I don't just drink it for the caffeine, if that's what you mean."

"Well, as long as you make me a cup every morning, I can deal." She offers me a small, tense smile, at odds with the sincerity in her eyes. It's almost as though she's not really sure how to respond to a simple gesture of kindness, like she's forcing the muscles in her cheeks to move in an unfamiliar way.

I chuckle.

"I'm sorry; I'm Edward."

"Bella," she says, accepting my offered hand and shaking it firmly. "It's nice to meet you, Edward."

"So, you ready for school today?" I ask her.

"Uh, yeah, I guess so," she sighs.

"What are you studying? You're starting at Northwestern, right?"

"Yeah, I am. I'm majoring in English and linguistics."

"Cool."

Bella's shrug is non-committal.

"_I_ find it interesting," she says. Her tone suggests she doesn't expect me to agree. I wonder who has given her a hard time about her majors.

"What do you hope to do with it?" I'm struggling to keep the conversation flowing. If we're going to be living together, it'd be great if we could get along, but I'm feeling out of practice with making conversation. I spend my days staring at a computer screen, rarely interacting with people, and I spend my nights alone, my only company my guitar.

"I don't really know," Bella shrugs. "I'll figure it out eventually. So what about you, are you studying still?"

I get the feeling this is a deflection from the subject of her future, but I go with it.

"Yeah, it's my final year," I sigh. "I'm doing Business at UChicago."

"Business?" She quirks an eyebrow.

"Uh-huh, I'm part of the CCIB program," I shrug.

"I don't know what that is," she points out.

"Sorry, Chicago Careers in Business. It just means I get lots of opportunities for internships and I get to sit through extra seminars and shit; stuff that will supposedly help me get ahead."

"I assumed you were a musician," she says, hesitantly. "I can hear you playing some nights."

"Does it bother you?

"Not at all. So, it's just a hobby?"

I shrug.

"I enjoy playing; it's not really a viable career option for me though."

"Okay."

It takes me a moment to understand why Bella's response surprises me. Usually people respond to this kind of comment in one of two ways; they either chastise me for not chasing my dreams, for not making a go of carving out a career in music, or they remind me that it's no great loss, given the impressive salary I can expect to receive once I graduate. Bella, however, does not offer her opinion. Either she just doesn't care, which is fair enough, as I've only known her for fifteen minutes, or she doesn't feel the need to offer her opinion on how I should be living my life.

Bella takes another sip of her coffee, before she glances toward the clock on the oven. She jumps to her feet immediately, shrieking and swearing, startling me out of my thoughts.

"No way! Shoot. I'm going to be late –"

"Wait, Bella!"

"No, I can't. I'm sorry, thanks for the coffee, really, but I have to go."

I'm on my feet and grabbing her wrist before she can leave the kitchen, and she looks up at me in complete shock. She's really tiny, I realize suddenly; her head would fit under my chin easily. I shove my watch under her nose, laughing. She goes cross-eyed trying to focus on the hands of my watch, and I can't help but chuckle again. Her eyes are an unusual shade of golden-brown, and they're really quite stunning.

"What the hell?" she mutters, looking between the watch on my wrist and the clock on the oven. She fishes her phone out of her back pocket, and glances at it, confirming that my timepiece is not lying to her.

"Uh, I was trying to tell you, the oven clock is wrong," I shrug.

"Sure it is," Bella sighs. "Why is the clock on the oven an hour and a half fast?"

"Uh … Well, it reset when the power went out one time, and we can't figure out how to change it." I run my hands through my hair reflexively; my explanation seems a bit lame.

Bella rolls her eyes and starts to move toward the oven. I let go of her wrist as she steps away, surprised to find I'm still holding it. Bella fiddles with the buttons over the oven for a few seconds.

"What's the exact time?" she huffs.

"Seven-fifty-four."

She nods, and steps away from the oven. I look at the display, surprised. The little green numbers mock me as they wink the correct time.

"How did you do that?" I ask, amazed.

"I'm a girl. It's an oven." Bella snaps. I'm taken aback at the acidity in her voice. I'm also slightly pissed off; I met her all of sixteen minutes ago and she's accusing me of being a sexist? Oh, fuck no; please don't let her be one of those hyper-feminist types who abuse the men who open doors for them … or make them cups of coffee. Bella catches my expression and sighs, looking suddenly weary. It's amazing how her face transforms; exhaustion is suddenly written across her features, and she looks utterly defeated.

"I'm sorry, Edward, really. That was uncalled for. I, uh, I've used ovens similar to this before."

I nod, wary of provoking her temper again.

"Thanks for the coffee, Edward. I should go get ready." Bella picks up her coffee mug, and makes to leave the kitchen.

"No problem, Bella. Any time."

"Like I said, every morning." Again her smile is small, forced, and it is only her eyes that reveal her genuine appreciation.

I stare aimlessly out the kitchen window as I finish my own cup of coffee, mulling over my first encounter with Bella. She's attractive, certainly; her body curves lusciously at her hips and breasts, and her tanned skin is clear and smooth. But she's obviously closed herself off completely. She seems even more out of practice with human interaction than I am. What on earth could have happened to cause a pretty young girl to be so closed off, so unused to companionship?

* * *

><p>With our first cup of coffee, Bella and I establish a routine of sorts almost immediately. It's not unusual for Garrett to stay over at his girlfriend's flat four to five nights a week, so early mornings frequently find Bella and me sharing the newspaper, and sipping the various micro-lot coffees I procure for us to sample. On the days I leave for school early, I leave Bella's coffee in a thermos-style travel mug.<p>

At first we don't talk a lot, other than the exchanging of softly spoken greetings, but it's pleasant enough. Bella's silent companionship doesn't bother me at all; in fact, I come to enjoy it. It's easy. Simple. With all the drama that continues to rage in my circle of friends, Bella's company is uncomplicated. She's just … there. Sipping her coffee and working on the crossword, lost in her own silent world, which just happens to overlap with mine for a few moments each morning.

* * *

><p>I realize, about a month after she moves in, that Bella is quite literally fading before my eyes.<p>

With the Chicago fall, Bella's tanned skin fades quickly. She spends most of her days indoors, or bundled up to ward off the cold, and her skin has little chance of retaining it's warm, golden color. Now, her skin is flawless, smooth and silky soft, she is almost translucent in her fairness.

The sun-streaks in her hair begin to grow out, and she arrives home one evening with her hair dyed a very dark brown. The color serves only to accentuate her now-fair skin, and the new bangs she's had cut in draw attention to her huge brown eyes. Still, I can't decide if I like this haircut or not. Certainly, she looks gorgeous, but the bangs seem to be yet another shield she's raised, another way to hide herself.

Bella's preference for solitude doesn't seem to change as she eases in to her classes and her new school. As far as I'm aware, she doesn't ever bring any friends around, and she rarely goes out to socialize. I think she occasionally meets up with one girl to study, but other than that, she makes no mention of any friends she's made.

She rarely even ventures out into the living room to watch television. It concerns me a little – a fact that I find both puzzling and frustrating. I've been choosing to exclude myself from any form of social activity for months now, so why does Bella's solitude bother me? Why do I already care?

* * *

><p><strong>November 2008.<strong>

It's a surprise to me, when I arrive home from class one Thursday evening to find Bella seated in the living room with Mike Newton. The scene is so odd – so wrong. My former roommate and my new one, sitting in front of the television together, laughing loudly. Wait, Bella's laughing? I'm almost hurt that I've never seen her this cheerful. I study her closely, curiously. No, she's not really laughing, I realize. She's faking it. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes and she looks incredibly uncomfortable. She's folded herself into the only armchair, forcing Mike to sit on the couch opposite her.

"Hey, Mike. How you doing, man?" I ask loudly, alerting them to my presence. Though I direct my greeting to Mike, my eyes are on Bella. I notice the flicker of relief in her eyes before she offers me a small smile.

"Edward! Hey man, it's been a long time!"

"Did you leave some shit here or something?" I ask shortly. There's a reason I haven't seen Mike in a few months, and I don't really want to think about it right now.

"Nah, I was just in the area and I thought I'd drop by, see how things were going."

"Uh-huh. I, uh, I see you've met Bella."

"Most definitely." Mike winks at Bella and she tries to suppress a grimace with another fake smile. I see it, but Mike doesn't, returning her expression with a beaming grin.

"Mike used to live with us," I explain to Bella.

"So I've heard," she replies mildly. "Mike is very interested in seeing the changes I've made to his room." Mike grins again, completely oblivious to the derision in Bella's tone.

"Mike! You asked to see the girl's bedroom? That's incredibly rude, my friend."

Mike shrugs, still grinning stupidly at Bella.

"So, uh, how long have you guys known each other?" Bella asks.

"Since middle school, right?" I shrug as Mike nods enthusiastically. Bella nods once, and it occurs to me that she's trying to analyze whether or not she needs to feel threatened by Mike. She's clearly uncomfortable, and I feel a stab of annoyance toward my old friend for his inability to respect people's boundaries.

"Do you want a beer, Mike?" I motion toward the kitchen.

"Yeah, that'd be awesome." Mike grins, and, instead of following me toward the kitchen as I intended, he kicks back on the couch, clearly expecting me to retrieve the beer for him. I roll my eyes and Bella bites her lip to keep her smile from appearing.

"Bella?"

"I'll get it," she says, jumping to her feet.

As soon as we are safely in the kitchen, I put my hand gently on Bella's forearm.

"Has he been here long?" I ask quietly.

"About half an hour," she murmurs.

"And how many times has he tried to hit on you?"

"He hasn't stopped," she mutters, shuddering slightly.

"He's harmless, Bella, okay? He thinks he's smooth, and he can be a bit of a douche, but he's not … " I sigh, trying to think of the best way to explain. "He's like an annoying lapdog, you know? He'll yap a lot, jump all over you, and slobber everywhere, but he's not dangerous."

Bella grimaces but nods her understanding. She bends over to retrieve three bottles of beer from the fridge and a low whistle causes us both to jump. Mike stands in the doorway, his eyes trained on Bella's backside.

"Dude! Knock it off!" I punch him in the shoulder, harder than is warranted, but not as hard as I'd like to. As much as I'm a complete hypocrite, having admired Bella's ass myself on a number of occasions, the man has no subtlety, and Bella brings out a strange protective instinct in me.

Mike laughs loudly, accepting the beer Bella offers him with an exaggerated wink.

"So, Edward, you coming out with the gang tomorrow night? You should bring Bella."

"I, uh, I wasn't planning on it."

"Aw, man, you gotta come. It's been too long since we all hung out."

"There's a reason for that Mike."

Mike shrugs.

"I don't see why what happened with Jazz and Angie needs to affect the rest of us."

"You don't, huh? So, are she and what's-his-face going to be there?"

"Ben? Yeah, for sure, dude. He's such a cool guy; you'll love him."

"I'm sure. And is Jazz going?"

"I haven't talked to him yet, but why not?"

"Seriously, Mike?" I'm sure my eyebrows are nearing my hairline. "You don't see why Jazz might not want to hang out with his ex-wife and her new boyfriend?"

"Edward, man, it's been six months. It's time we start putting that behind us."

"It's been five months, Mike, and don't you think that it's up to Jasper to decide when to put it behind him?"

Bella looks between us nervously, and I squeeze her forearm in reassurance.

"We'll see, Mike. We might see you tomorrow; I'm not sure. But, uh, Bella and I need to start dinner and stuff, and Garrett should be home in a few minutes …" I trail off, hoping, perhaps foolishly, that Mike will take the hint. For once, he does.

"Yeah, well, let me know. And Bella, you should come, regardless of whether this stick in the mud does, okay?"

"We'll see," Bella echoes.

When Mike is gone, Bella slumps down at the kitchen table, her head in her hands.

"Who are Jasper and Angela?" she asks quietly. "If you don't mind telling me."

I briefly explain the details of my best friend's failed marriage, and the disruption it's caused among our friends.

"Wow, that's really hard," she murmurs as I finish. "So, you're not going to go tomorrow, I guess?"

I shake my head.

"I was thinking I'd see if Jazz wants to go to the brewery or something. You're welcome to join us, if you'd like?" I make my offer hesitantly, anticipating Bella's rejection.

"Maybe another time," she smiles gently.

"I'll hold you to that," I tell her.

"Please do."

* * *

><p><strong>February 2009<strong>

Over six months of sharing a cup of coffee most mornings, Bella and I begin to spend less time in silence. Our conversation develops slowly, awkwardly, almost painfully, starting with my tentative question as to how Bella is finding the Chicago winter. We gradually build up to other subjects: one of the novels she's studying in school, a particular news report that catches one of our eyes, or sharing stories about Garrett, who is our only mutual friend.

As I tell Bella about the day Garrett met Kate, it suddenly occurs to me that I don't actually know Bella any better than I did when we shared out first cup of coffee. We can chat about anything; even the taboo subjects of politics and religion, but I do not _know_ Bella at all. I know she's clever and opinionated, but I have no idea _who_ she is, or what makes her tick. Really, I acknowledge, though we've spent six months talking, I don't know anything about what makes Bella _Bella_.

To be honest, it's not like I've really tried to draw her out. I've never asked her about her life before she moved to Chicago; I've never asked her how she's feeling about having uprooted her life; I've never asked her what prompted her to take off to Europe for two years. I've never asked her about the people that matter to her. Though, to be fair, Bella has never asked me anything remotely personal either.

As we sip an Ethiopian micro-lot one frigid winter morning, Bella is ranting about having to read Kerouac, when I finally put a finger on what it is that is so unusual about conversation with this girl. It occurs to me as I listen to her careful argument, that, unlike most people, Bella avoids using emotive words when expressing her opinions.

I know what Bella _thinks_ about any number of subjects, but how she _feels_ about them? I wouldn't have a clue. The girl is able to separate her intellect and her emotions in such a deliberately careful manner, that one might never realize that she's doing it. It could come across as spectacular logical prowess, that she is able to maintain some level of objectivity on almost any subject. But surely that can't be the case. At some level, she has to feel something about, I don't know, _something_.

When I ask her for her opinion, be it about literature, or proposed legislature, or anything at all, Bella will thoughtfully provide me with several different points of view, then carefully tell me which position she agrees with and why. She takes delight in playing devil's advocate. It's starting to drive me crazy. The more I think about it, the more it infuriates me. I deliberately broach controversial topics, trying to draw her out of her carefully worded answers.

It's brazen, and perhaps a little harsh, but I decide to broach a dangerous subject one morning as we breakfast together, one I'm sure most people can't avoid getting riled up about.

"So, Bella, what are your thoughts on abortion?"

Bella blanches, and I immediately realize the stupidity of my question. I know nothing of Bella's history, and for all I know, she may have had one herself, and she may carry deep hurt over it. I'm about to tell her not to worry, to beg her forgiveness for asking something so insensitive and stupid when she surprises me by answering.

"I think it's a far more complex issue than people make it out to be," she says softly. "I think it's something you need to consider on a case by case basis."

"That's not really an answer," I tell her.

"Why don't you tell me _your_ thoughts, Edward?" she replies tightly.

"I get the feeling I'm disqualified from the right to an opinion on the subject by my gender, Bella."

"That's such a cop out," she sighs.

"Bella?" I ask, abandoning my less than subtle attempts to engage her. "Why don't you ever talk about what you feel? I know what you think about so many things, but you never give any indication about what you feel."

"Maybe I'm an emotionless shrew?" she suggests coldly.

"Bullshit," I challenge.

"You want to know what I _feel_, Edward? I _feel_ that there are always extenuating circumstances that you can't possibly know observing from the outside. But," Bella sighs, then presses on, swallowing nervously, "I also know I've _felt_ grief for a child that too many people have tried to tell me wasn't truly a child yet."

I watch Bella carefully, expecting her to rebuke me for my lack of sensitivity. She doesn't. Horrified, I watch as a tear tracks its way down her soft cheek.

"I'm so sorry –"

"Don't be. You couldn't have known." she says quietly. Bravely, she meets my eyes. "So, yes, Edward, I _feel_ things. I keep them to myself, much like you do, but they're there nonetheless."

"You … had a miscarriage?" I ask, hesitantly.

Bella nods once, her eyes downcast.

"Please don't ask me to talk about it," she whispers. "Not yet."

I study Bella carefully. Though a million questions are cascading through my consciousness, I push them aside and focus on the girl in front of me.

"Of course not," I whisper. Tentatively, I reach out my hand and take her smaller one in my own. Her fingers are so delicate, and I'm forcibly struck by her fragility. This is a side of Bella I very much doubt many people have seen. Scared. Vulnerable. Hurting. Broken.

I say nothing for a few minutes; I simply give her hand a gentle squeeze and allow her the time to recover her composure. Eventually, Bella lifts her head and gives me a small smile of thanks.

"So, listen, Bella," I say quietly. "You told me to hold you to having a beer one evening." I feel a bit like an ass for changing the subject. It seems the typically male thing to do, avoiding the emotional elephant in the room, but Bella is clearly not ready to divulge that kind of information to me, and I'm certainly not going to press the issue. I'm all too aware of the irony of the situation; I went into this conversation determined to get to know Bella, and I've certainly learned more than I anticipated.

"I did?" she asks in surprise.

"Uh, yeah," I murmur. "It was a while ago, but I think I'm going to have to enforce it tonight, okay? When you get home this evening, we'll go grab a beer and a burger at the brewery."

Bella considers my offer for a while.

"Okay," she replies softly. "But, uh, listen, Edward, can we not talk about …" Bella trails off, her eyes darting to mine nervously.

"Of course, Bella. We'll just go hang out, get to know each other on a more superficial level, alright? I, um, I'm so sorry for pushing you, before."

"It's okay, Edward. You couldn't have known." Bella smiles slightly. "Yeah, let's get that beer, then. Tonight. I think I'd like that."

* * *

><p><strong>I'd love to hear your thoughts!<strong>

**Love, Shell xx**


	4. A Stranger Song: FebMarch 2009

**Chapter 3: A Stranger Song.**

I'm sorry, my lovelies, I have to add a warning to this chapter: there will be a brief mention of child death due to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. No details, I promise.

I don't have enough words to describe how thankful I am for _believeitornot_'s assistance with this. I love her like I love Bobby. YMFC, bb.

* * *

><p><strong>Song: <strong>_**A Stranger Song**_**, Bobby Long**

"_**Does your heart beat so softly without warning?  
><strong>__**And does it beat out to the slow pace of the morning?  
><strong>__**When you close your eyes after all that you see  
><strong>__**Will you let the strangers be?**_

_**The train it hits the railroad  
><strong>__**And it cowers under flies  
><strong>__**It's painted by a man itself so it doesn't creep it cries  
><strong>__**You have seen the passageway  
><strong>__**But you trembled at the start  
><strong>__**You have always seen the strangers play  
><strong>__**And let them frolic with your heart**_

_**And it's another chance to make amends  
><strong>__**But they dabble with your code  
><strong>__**You're lost without a wolf or beast  
><strong>__**To stop you in the road  
><strong>__**And he's sitting quietly in his cell and  
><strong>__**Counting down its stones**_

_**Well a woman with your kind of heart  
><strong>__**Will always be alone."**_

* * *

><p><strong>February 2009<strong>

If I'm being honest, I almost expect Bella to cancel on me at some point. I'm genuinely surprised when I get home from school and find her waiting for me in the living room.

"Hey. You still good to go tonight, Bella?"

"Am I not dressed appropriately?" Bella looks concerned, and I smile as I shake my head.

"You look great," I assure her. She does, too – those tight jeans that I appreciate so much, a sheer black blouse-thing with a black tank underneath it, and those ballerina shoes that girls who don't like heels wear. Her shoes are red, which I think is pretty cool. I wonder if I can get some red shoes? Not those ballerina ones, obviously, but like, some red chucks or something. That'd be cool.

"I want red shoes," I tell her. Bella looks at me in surprise, which makes me feel a little stupid, but then she giggles and I forget all about feeling dumb. It's a pretty sound, one I'd like to capture and carry around in my pocket. It's free and light and easy. I'm almost certain a dose of Bella's laugh would work just as well as my pills.

"Do you want to wear mine?" Bella offers me, grinning mischievously.

"Yes," I tell her, trying to keep my face straight. I'm relieved by the comfortable camaraderie we're enjoying; I'd been concerned that this morning's incident may have destroyed any easiness between us.

Bella arches an eyebrow in challenge and kicks her shoes off.

"Well, have at them, then."

I chuckle as I place my foot beside one of them; the girl has tiny feet. I'd have to amputate my toes to fit my feet into them.

"I don't think they'll fit, somehow. I'll stretch the crap outta them, and then you won't have awesome red shoes anymore." Bella shakes her head, her brown-gold eyes dancing at my ridiculousness. "How do you even stay upright on feet that small?"

"I'm just that talented." Bella giggles as she slips her shoes back on. "Are you ready to go?"

"Uh, yeah. Just give me a minute." I quickly duck into my bedroom and shove a can of deodorant under my shirt, wincing slightly as the cool spray hits my skin. I grab up a scarf and some gloves and jog back to the living room. In my absence, Bella has donned a black wool coat and a furry white scarf, and is pulling on her gloves.

"It's fucking freezing out there, and it's still raining," I tell her. "Are you good to go?"

"Um, just a sec." Bella hesitates for a moment before she kicks off the red ballerina shoes and disappears back toward her bedroom. A minute later she reappears, now wearing the most fuck-awesome pair of boots I've ever seen. Of course, they're fire-truck red as well, and they look like trendy rain-boots for adults.

"You're lucky I'm not a girl, Bella." I grin when she looks up at me in surprise. "I'd totally be stealing your shoes all the time."

Bella rolls her eyes and giggles again. "I never would have picked you as the type to have a shoe-fetish, Edward."

I pretend to scowl as I lead her out the front door and toward my car. I open the door for her and she hesitates, biting her lip.

"You're not going to drink?" she asks quietly.

"I'll have a beer or two," I tell her. "But I'm not really a big drinker." Bella's expression clears as she nods her acceptance and slides into the passenger seat.

"That's pretty unusual, isn't it?" Bella asks as soon as I climb into the driver's seat. I blink at her, nonplussed.

"Uh, your not drinking much," she clarifies.

"Oh. Uh, yeah." I shrug. "I can't. Um, I take this medication, and it doesn't mix so well with alcohol. Um, alcohol affects me faster because of it. So, I can have a beer or two occasionally, but I shouldn't really drink too much, or too often."

"Okay then." Bella smiles in understanding. Because it's Bella, I'm not surprised that she doesn't ask me for more information. I'd probably tell her if she asked, but she doesn't, so I pull out of our driveway, making my way carefully through the slick streets toward the brewery Jazz and I have been frequenting for the past few months.

"What is this?" Bella's question startles me. "The music." She points at the car stereo.

"Uh, Zoe Keating."

"It's beautiful." Bella's eyes flutter closed and a small smile curls up the corners of her lips. Huh. Bella has really nice lips. They're all cherry-pink and plump and soft looking; I bet they taste sweet. Yeah, time to think of something else, Masen. I'm wholly unsuccessful in my efforts to distract myself, but fortunately, it's only a short drive to the brewery.

Soon enough, we're seated in a cozy little booth, beers and burgers in front of us. When I come here with Jasper, the slow jazz and dim lighting make this place seem like a haven – a place where we can mellow out and forget about all the shit life has thrown at us. With Bella here, though, the atmosphere seems to shift, and it feels strangely intimate.

Bella looks at me thoughtfully for a minute as she chews on a fry.

"Okay. Here's the deal. We said we'd get to know each other on a superficial level, yes?" I nod in agreement, but wait for her to continue. Bella sighs lightly before she continues. "Edward, listen, you can ask me anything you deem appropriate. As you would have figured out this morning, there are some things I'd rather not talk about. I could just lie, I know, but I don't want to. So, and this goes for you as well, I get to pass on any question that I don't feel I can answer superficially."

I consider Bella's condition for a moment. I'm actually encouraged by this suggestion. She's right; she could just lie and I'd accept it, not knowing any better. By 'passing', she's actually being honest, because she's allowing me to know which subjects are raw for her.

"That sounds fair."

Bella offers me her hand and we shake on it. She grabs her beer and takes a deep pull before she gives me an easy smile.

"Okay. Shoot."

"Uhh …" Where the fuck am I supposed to start? "Tell me about your family? Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"Nah," Bella shakes her head. "My parents divorced before my first birthday. My Mom remarried about five years ago, but I don't think they plan on having kids. How about you? Any siblings?"

"I was a twin."

"Was?" Bella's eyes are soft as she tilts her head to regard me. Her concern touches me – it's easy to believe that she genuinely cares – and it enables me to hold her gaze as I speak.

"My sister, Elizabeth, died of SIDS when we were only a few weeks old."

"I'm sorry," Bella murmurs.

"It messed my Mom up for a long time."

"That's … that's just tragic. I can't even imagine, …" She shakes her head sadly. "It must have been so difficult for you, growing up with her absence."

I consider Bella thoughtfully, surprised by her astuteness and empathy.

"It's been hard to come to terms with. Obviously, I have absolutely no memory of Lizzy at all. But I've always known that I had a twin sister who died; my parents never tried to hide that from me. And, I guess, once I was old enough to understand, I felt … well, guilty for a long while. Just … I don't know … they tell me it's like survivor's guilt." I look away from Bella's sympathetic gaze, taking a deep breath and reminding myself once more that sometimes life is just unfair.

"That's understandable." Bella's voice is gentle and soothing.

"Next question." I press on.

"No, it's my turn," Bella insists, and I smile gratefully at her willingness to change the subject. "When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you were grown up?"

"Umm, when I was really little I wanted to be a firefighter, I think. Jazz, Emmett and I used to run around all summer, dragging the garden hose after us. Jazz's mom put a stop to it though when she caught us _rescuing_ cats out of trees."

"How was that a bad thing?" Bella frowns.

"Well, in order for us to rescue the cats, they needed to get stuck first," I chuckle. "So, ah, we would put all the neighbors' cats up in the trees first, then practice rescuing them. Some of our neighbors weren't too impressed at the way we were treating their pets."

"That's almost cute." Bella snickers.

"Almost? We were adorable! After we got banned from being firefighters, I'm pretty sure I wanted to be a vet for a few years, and then I was certain I was going to be an OBGYN like my Dad." I wink and Bella rolls her eyes, snickering.

"You're such a perv!"

I shrug.

"I was an über-dork in high school. I figured it was the only way I'd get to see … I'm kidding, of course." I assure Bella as her eyes widen. "I wanted to be an obstetrician, actually."

"So, uh, why are you doing business instead of delivering babies –" Bella catches herself, her eyes widening.

I shake my head, letting her know she's wrong in the assumption I suspect she's making. "You know, my Dad had the same concerns when he heard I wanted to follow in his footsteps, and he explained to me that it would mean having to face the reality of miscarriage and stillbirth. It's something that he still struggles with, the constant reminder of the loss of his own daughter."

My cheeks flush as I continue to hold Bella's gaze. "But then, in my junior year, my aunt had a baby – her fifth, would you believe? And so, she let me come in and watch while she was in labor. I, uh, I fainted," I tell her, rubbing the back of my neck in embarrassment.

Bella regards me blankly for a few seconds before her trilling laughter fills my ears. My embarrassment matters not; I'd gladly humiliate myself over and over if it means hearing that sound bubble from her lips.

"So, yes, probably not the best career path for me. I suspect the guy delivering your baby fainting as it crowned would be mildly upsetting for most new mothers."

"Mildly," Bella agrees, between chuckles.

"So, what about you, Bella? Are you doing what you always planned to, or have you had to settle like me?"

"Well." Bella smiles. "I wanted to be a cop until I was about thirteen."

"Seriously?"

"Oh yeah. My Dad is on the force, and I always idolized him. I spent all my time as a kid playing cops and robbers; it drove my Mom crazy."

"What changed when you were thirteen?"

"I decided I wanted to sail around the world by myself."

"That's … different."

"I guess. My step-dad is a sailor, and the first time Mom introduced me to him as her new boyfriend, he took us sailing. It was amazing – something just clicked, and I felt like I'd found my home."

"At sea?"

Bella nods, her smile sad. "Well, not necessarily at sea, just, on the water. It's a little romantic, I suppose, but I just love the idea of the challenge of a solo circumnavigation. Months of being alone at sea, it seems like you'd return truly knowing yourself. And what you are capable of."

"You don't mind being alone …"

"No," Bella admits. "Neither do you."

I nod my head, acknowledging the truth of her observation, before I continue. "So how come you're not out being … I can't remember the chicks' names. There was the Aussie one, then the Dutch one, right?"

"Jessica Watson and Laura Dekker."

"Yeah, them," I nod. "How come you're sitting in a pub with me, and not, I dunno, in the Southern Ocean or something?"

Bella laughs, but it's half-hearted.

"The amount of money and preparation that goes into a campaign like that? It's just not feasible for me."

"You know you can sail on Lake Michigan, right? There are yacht clubs here."

"I know. Once the weather warms up again, I'm going to go check it out, maybe see if I can get a crewing position."

"Will you take me sailing one day?" It feels a little rude, and somewhat presumptuous, to ask her to take me, but somehow, the image of Bella steering a yacht is one I want to see with my own eyes.

"One day."

"My turn, okay?" Bella nods, and I contemplate my next question. "So, uh, what made you go to Europe by yourself?"

"Pass." Bella meets my eyes, and the pain in her gaze is almost tangible. My chest tightens uncomfortably and I hasten to nod my acceptance.

"Uh, is it okay to ask about what you _did_ in Europe?"

"Yes."

"Okay, what was your favorite place?"

"Dubrovnik." Bella answers without a pause. "Croatia," she adds on seeing my blank look.

"Why?"

"Uh-uh, no way buddy, it's my turn to ask a question."

"Fine," I huff, rolling my eyes playfully.

"Okay, what –"

"MASEN! Hey! Where you been, man? I haven't seen you for months."

A huge hand clasps my shoulder, shaking it insistently, and I look up at the hulking form of one of my closest friends.

"Em, hey. How's it going?" I reach up to clasp his hand in greeting.

"Not too shabby, not too shabby. How about you, man? You've been off the radar for a while."

I glance at Bella and my answer dies on my lips as I watch her face whiten in abject fear. I'm puzzled by her reaction: Emmett's a big dude, for sure, and his sheer size can sometimes feel a little invasive. However, the eyebrow piercing and Che Guevara tee-shirt are mind-numbingly commonplace, and his waist length dreadlocks would probably seem a little more fearsome if he didn't have a rainbow-colored, woven headband keeping them off his face.

I'm about to ask Bella if she's okay when I realize she's not looking up at Emmett at all, but is rather staring beyond him at the dark-skinned girl who's approaching our table.

"Leah." Bella's whisper is barely audible, and her eyes widen in surprise as Emmett wraps his arm around Leah.

"Hi Edward." Leah's greeting is cool, as usual, and her eyes flick quickly to my companion. She too freezes, her dark eyes widening in surprise as she spots Bella.

"Bella? What? How do ..?" Leah shakes her head in bewilderment.

Before I can process what's going on, Bella is out of her seat, grabbing her bag and stuffing her arms back into her red coat.

"Edward, can we go, please? We have to go! Now!" Tears are starting to streak down Bella's face, and I quickly stand, throwing some cash on the table.

I look to Emmett, who looks as shocked as I feel, and Leah, whose bottom lip is trembling with constrained emotion.

"Bella, please …" Leah begs, her voice cracking.

Bella pauses, looking at Leah through her tears.

"I'm sorry, Lee. I'm not ready." She turns on her heel, making her way quickly toward the exit.

"I'll catch you later," I mutter to Emmett, hastening after Bella.

I catch her as she steps out of the pub on to the sidewalk, grabbing her hand and pulling her to face me. Thankfully, the rain stopped while we were eating.

"Bella?"

"I'll tell you, Edward. Please, just … not here, not now," she sobs, trying to pull away from my grip.

"Hey," I say gently. "Whenever you're ready." I pull her into my arms. She hesitates for a moment, before I feel her surrender, allowing me to hold her close. I rub her back carefully as her body shakes and heaves within the circle of my arms. After a few minutes, I realize she's not going to calm down any time soon, so I carefully tuck her under my arm and start walking us slowly toward the car.

Bella is still crying by the time I pull us into our driveway, though her wracking sobs have faded to quiet sniffles and gasps. As soon as we are inside, I help Bella into a seat at the kitchen table and set about brewing some tea.

"What's this?" Bella's voice is scratchy from crying.

"Rooibos."

"Roy-boss?"

"Yeah, it's a South African tea. No caffeine, so you'll be able to sleep."

"Thanks, Edward." Bella's delicate fingers wrap around the mug, as if seeking out the warmth of the ceramic. "I, uh, I'm so sorry about before. Fuck … my past has caught up with me twice in one day. I'm so sorry."

"Hey, it's really not a problem," I say, my voice firm, hoping she will trust the sincerity of my words. I feel badly for the distress she's been caused today, but I'm not going to be scared away by her past, however traumatic it may have been. Heaven knows I've got my own sad secrets.

"Listen, Bella." I take the seat beside her, my hands imitating hers. "You don't have to tell me anything, okay? If you're not ready, if you don't want to talk about it, I understand. We don't know each other very well yet, so please don't feel you owe me an explanation."

"Yet?" I can hear the hope in Bella's question.

"Yet," I affirm. "I want to be your friend, Bella. I don't know you well, but I'd like to."

Bella continues to stare at the hot red liquid in her mug, sniffling occasionally.

"Thank you," she finally rasps out. "I'd like that, too."

She falls silent for a few moments, before her soft voice demands my attention.

"I don't really want to talk about before, to be honest, but I'd rather you hear it from me. Uh, how long have you known Leah?"

"I guess it's got to be close to two years, I think." I shrug, scratching at my chin as I try to remember the details. "She and Emmett met not long after she moved here … She moved here from San Fran, also, didn't she?"

Bella nods briefly, sighing as she raises her eyes to meet mine.

"Yeah, I had no idea she'd moved out here … No one told me." Bella shakes her head, pursing her lips in irritation. "I'm guessing no one told me because I might not have come if I knew she was here too, and they wanted me to be move here so Garrett could babysit me."

Bella laughs bitterly at my look of surprise.

"I'm not stupid, I know that's why Mom suggested Chicago when I was thinking about New York. Hell, that's why I agreed to it. I'd have had to spend all my time dodging their phone calls if I'd moved somewhere where there was no family member that could report back to my parents." Bella's small smile is genuine as she waggles a finger at me. "And don't think I don't suspect Garrett asked you to keep an eye on me."

I make to apologize, but Bella waves it off, her lips twitching.

"It's fine, Edward. You haven't been overbearing or anything, but I know my family pretty well."

"I'm sorry," I mutter. While I can see that Bella's not upset, I do feel a little guilty. She is not, after all, a child.

"It's okay, really." She smiles, removing her hand from her mug and squeezing mine gently. Her little fingers are warm from cradling the ceramic. "It's better to have a family who cares too much, right?"

I smile at that, remembering how much Mom fussed when I first moved in with Garrett and started college.

"So, uh, you knew Leah back home?" I prompt.

"Uh, yeah … I, um, Leah's younger brother Seth was a good friend of mine, and uh, I dated his best friend for a long time."

Bella squeezes her eyes shut in pain. I remain silent, her hand clasped carefully in mine, waiting for her to continue.

"Jake and I dated all through high school," she whispers. Her cheeks are once again wet with tears and she brushes them away furiously. "He w-was my first boyfriend, my first everything. My first kiss, the first boy I slept with. The first boy, the _only_ boy, I thought about forever with."

Bella sniffles, her shoulders sagging as she continues to speak.

"But Jacob was, well, he was really s-sick, and I … I never knew. He, uh, he died a few months after graduation."

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry." I squeeze Bella's hand again, overwhelmed by a feeling of utter impotence as I watch her dissolve into tears once more. I want to hold her, but I'm not sure whether she'll accept my embrace. Tentatively, I tug her toward me, guiding her out of her seat and on to my lap. As soon as she is in my arms, Bella is fisting my shirt desperately, her face buried in my chest as she sobs. The noises that escape her break my heart; the pain and suffering contained in each gasp and cry that rips from her throat is unbearable.

Bella's flight to Europe makes a lot of sense to me now; another piece in the puzzle falls into place. I feel shitty for my earlier assumption that she was a spoiled princess – I couldn't have been further from the truth. She was obviously running away from her grief, and who could blame her, really? A part of me is morbidly curious; I wonder what illness could have claimed Jacob's life, what illness he could have hidden from her so successfully. I will not ask, however. If Bella wants me to know, she will tell me.

My hand moves of it's own accord, rubbing Bella's back gently as she continues to weep. Part of me wants to offer her words of comfort; to tell her that time heals all wounds, to tell her that she will move on, to tell her that she will survive her grief. But I can't promise her that, so I stay silent, comforting her the only way I can – by simply ensuring that in this moment, she is not alone in her grief.

* * *

><p>In the weeks that follow, Bella doesn't mention the disastrous end to our evening, so I take my cue from her and don't bring it up. I do, however, insist we make a tradition of going out for a beer once a week. I have a twofold reason for doing this; firstly, I want Bella to know she hasn't scared me off, and secondly, I genuinely enjoy Bella's company.<p>

She's slowly opening up, letting her guard down around me, which makes me unaccountably happy. I feel a very peculiar sense of pride in knowing that Bella trusts me sufficiently to let me get to know her, that she doesn't feel the need to hide from me so much any more.

* * *

><p><strong>March 2009<strong>

Bella is looking decidedly uncomfortable as she shifts in her seat at the breakfast table. She has started to speak a number of times, before shaking her head and looking back down at the table. She's staring at the crossword, as usual, but I haven't seen her fill in even one answer.

"What's on your mind, Bella?" I finally ask, my curiosity over what has her so wound up getting the better of me. Bella starts, her golden-brown eyes briefly meeting mine before she looks away.

"Uh –" she pauses, before the words tumble out in a rush. "I was wondering if we have a policy on houseguests?"

I cock my head in confusion.

"What, like having friends stay over?"

"Um, no." Bella blushes scarlet. "More like, house guests of the opposite sex."

"Huh?" I frown, trying to figure out what she means. "Oh. _Oh_. Uh, yeah." I cough, feeling my cheeks color. I look at the table, mirroring Bella's refusal to make eye contact.

"We, uh, we usually just … Well, advanced warning helps, so we can … uh, clear out. But, yeah, if it's spontaneous, I don't know, just … shit … just, hang something off the doorknob or whatever."

Bella nods her understanding, her cheeks still slightly pink.

"I thought you didn't have a boyfriend, Bella."

"I don't," she mutters.

"Oh … But, there's a guy you're interested in, then?" I press on, curious.

"Nope."

I'm confused. If she's not interested in anyone, why is she asking about the house policy on booty calls?

"So, uh, why ..?"

"What, Edward? Do you think guys have the monopoly on one night stands?" she snaps. "Look, I'm planning on bringing someone home tonight, okay? I'm giving you some notice. I don't know who, but honestly, I don't really care." Bella's tone is hostile, defensive, as though she expects me to try to argue with her about her plans.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. If that's what you want to do, I'm not going to stop you, okay? Just – just, be careful, alright?"

Bella rolls her eyes at me.

"It's none of your business, _Dad_, but um, I'm on the pill and I have condoms."

"That's not what I meant, Bella," I sigh. "I just meant in terms of _who_ you choose to bring home. But, whatever – have fun."

"Oh." Bella blinks at me in surprise.

"Listen, Bella. Just … if you need me, you can call me at any time and I'll come straight home, okay? Any time at all."

"You're going out?"

"Well, yeah. I don't think you really want me around to witness whatever you're up to."

"Oh, right." Bella chews her lip anxiously, and I frown, trying to process her expression.

"Did you _want_ me to stick around?" I ask, fighting the urge to cringe.

"No, no, it's fine," she mutters.

"Bella?"

"It's fine." The defensive tone in her voice is back, and though my brain tells me to leave it, I surprise myself by placing my hand over Bella's where it rests on the table.

"Do you want me to be here?" I ask gently.

"No, no. I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything …"

"Bella."

She sighs in defeat, warily returning her gaze to mine.

"It's just … it seemed it would be … easier … if I knew there was … someone here."

It all clicks into place for me abruptly. Bella is nervous. She knows what she's planning is somewhat risky – bringing home a virtual stranger – and she's right, she's safer if either Garrett or I are here if things don't go as she hopes.

"I'll be here, alright," I tell her, squeezing her hand gently. "All you have to do is shout."

Bella eyes meet mine, their gold-brown intense.

"Thank you," she whispers. It's heartfelt, honest. I don't understand why, but this is important to Bella, and she's genuinely grateful for the security I'm agreeing to provide her with.

"Anything for you, Bella," I promise.

As I gather my things for class, I have to ruthlessly quash the unexpected stab of jealousy I feel toward the faceless stranger Bella plans to bring home tonight. Perhaps I am afraid of what I will find, so I refuse to examine the cause of this unbidden anger, hoping, foolishly, that it will simply dissipate on it's own.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading, my lovelies. Please review, let me know what you think and say "Hi". I do so love hearing from you all.<p>

Shell xx


	5. Lay Me Down: March 2009

**Chapter 4: Lay Me Down**

**A/N: Thank you so very much to everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited and recommended _The Loving Kind_. You guys are awesome, really.**

**The hugest of thanks to the wonderful BelieveItOrNot for all her help. I love you so much, sweetheart! YMFC, bb x**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Lay Me Down<strong>_**, by The Audreys.**

_**don't want to borrow your car  
><strong>__**don't want to meet your ma  
><strong>__**don't want to hold your hand  
><strong>__**or have you come see my band  
><strong>__**just lay me down**_

_**don't want no sweet talking  
><strong>__**don't want no moonlit walking  
><strong>__**don't want to reminisce  
><strong>__**about our first kiss  
><strong>__**just lay me down, lay me down**_

_**don't wanna talk all night  
><strong>__**about what's not going right  
><strong>__**but while we're still being sweet  
><strong>__**there's just one thing I need**_

_**don't want to know your past  
><strong>_'_**cause this ain't going to last  
><strong>__**don't want to talk to your friends  
><strong>__**while we're this close to the end  
><strong>__**just lay me down, lay me down**_

* * *

><p><strong>March 2009.<strong>

To say I'd been on edge all fucking day would be an enormous understatement. From the moment I said farewell to Bella and headed to school this morning, I've been barely keeping a lid on this strange anger. It's acidic, corrosive; I can feel it eating away at my insides. I don't understand its origin, and it's incredibly unsettling.

I contemplate briefly whether I'm angry with Bella for the awkward position she has put me in, but I don't think that's it. When I think of Bella, anger is the furthest emotion from my mind. Warmth, concern, protectiveness, even affection, but never anger. I'm certainly uneasy about the whole situation. Yes, the potential for overhearing something I'd rather not is high, and I chastise myself for wondering just how vocal Bella can be in the height of passion. The very thought makes me uncomfortable in a rather shameful way, so I quickly push those thoughts out of my mind.

Even more concerning though, is the thought of some fuckwit taking advantage of Bella. I know there are still things she is hiding from me, and I suspect her pain runs much deeper than she has let on. The thought of someone using her situation, toying with her like that – just to get laid – makes me see red.

Oh.

Well, I guess I've pinpointed the source of my anger. I'm terrified Bella's going to get hurt – my powerlessness to protect her, my feeling of complete impotence in this situation is manifesting itself in this seething anger.

What if she sleeps with some douche and becomes attached to him, and he breaks her heart?

What if she brings home some guy who hurts her? Physically? Or a guy who tries to force her to do something she's not comfortable with?

What if she picks up a guy who mistakes her scratching an itch as something more and she ends up with some psychotic stalker?

My imagination spins further out of control, imagining increasingly terrible scenarios, and by lunchtime, I'm on the verge of an anxiety attack. Unable to concentrate, I decide to blow off my afternoon classes. My mind is in utter chaos as I make my way back across campus towards the parking lot.

"MASEN!"

_Fuck. _

Instead of stopping at Mike's shout, I merely wave my hand in acknowledgement and continue on my way, hoping he'll think I'm in a hurry to get to a class or something.

"Catch you later, man?"

I nod and wave again, relieved he's not going to back off – for now. I have a feeling he wants to ask me about Bella, and in the state I'm in, I wouldn't trust myself not to punch his stupid face.

Once enclosed in my car, I crank up my 'Leave Me The Fuck Alone' playlist, and pull out of the parking lot. Distracted by my concerns, I drive on autopilot, barely thinking about the turns I'm making.

I have to convince Bella this is a bad idea. Really. I can't let her do it. Shit. She's going to be pissed at me. I don't care. I'd rather she never speak to me again than put herself in danger like this. It's just … foolish, reckless. It's too damned dangerous. I can't let her bring home some psychotic fucking stalker-rapist-murderer.

Back up a bit, Masen. Can't _let_ her?

Bella doesn't need my permission to do anything – who the fuck am I to interfere with her life? She's an adult – she knows how to take care of herself. She spent two years travelling through Europe on her own. She's a smart girl; she must know what she's doing. Maybe she does this often?

That thought brings me no comfort at all.

I'm such a fucking hypocrite. I mean, it wasn't that long ago that I woke up with a naked redhead in my bed, completely unaware of how she got there, or who she was. I still don't know how the fuck that happened, though I presume mixing alcohol and anti-depressants must have something to do with it. So, why is it okay for me to do something like that, and not for Bella? Hell, at least she's planning ahead, and will hopefully be in full control of her faculties. I had to go get a damn blood test just to make sure I hadn't contracted anything in my stupidity – I couldn't frigging remember sleeping with Redhead, let alone whether I'd had the common sense to use protection.

I'm still banging my fist against the steering wheel in frustration when I realize I've subconsciously been driving toward my parents' home in Evanston. I sigh and turn down the volume on Placebo, knowing Mom will have my head if I'm still blasting _Bruise Pristine_ when I arrive.

Pulling up in front of the house, I'm relieved to see Mom's car in the driveway. Smoke is curling from the chimney, a dark smudge against the bleak sky. My lips curl into an involuntary smile as I look up at the two-story brick house, anticipating the warm aromas of cinnamon and nutmeg that always seem to linger here. I catch the fluttering of the kitchen curtains - Mom knows I'm here. Yeah, I'm a fucking Mama's boy, but no one has ever given me shit for it. The fact is, my friends all wish Esme Masen was their mother, too. I haven't even managed to pull myself out of my car before Mom is tapping at the passenger side window, her green eyes narrowed with concern.

"What's wrong, Edward? Are you okay, sweetheart?"

The second I'm out of the car, Mom's diminutive form blocks my path.

"I'm fine, Mom."

She folds her arms across her chest, her expression skeptical. My mom thinks she's tough, but I can see her worry in the lines around her mouth. Feeling guilty for upsetting her, I pull her into a hug that she returns fiercely. I've been taller than her since the year I turned fourteen, but it never ceases to shock me how tiny and fragile Mom feels in my arms. She's about the same height as Bella, I realize, surprised.

"Why aren't you at school?" Mom asks as soon as I release her from my embrace.

"I was having a shitty day, Ma."

"Come inside and tell me about it, sweetheart."

I allow Mom to lead me inside, feeling much like I did as a small child with scraped knees. Mom will be able to make this better; she'll know what I should do.

I trail after her, my hands stuffed in the pockets of my hoodie, cataloguing the little changes she's made to the place since I visited last month. There's a new painting in the hallway, a new rug in the living room, and the cushions scattered on the cream leather couches are the same golden-brown color as Bella's eyes. It's comforting, seeing these changes. As attached as I am to the home I grew up in, it pleases me to see that Mom continues to update and change things; she's not one to cling too tightly to the past.

"So, what's going on, Edward? Are you okay?"

I've barely seated myself at the breakfast table before Mom places some cookies and a mug of coffee in front of me. I swear it's almost as though she was anticipating my visit.

"I'm fine, Ma," I repeat. "Really, I've been doing really great on these new pills – so long as I don't drink too much. I haven't had any problems with them."

Mom nods, biting her lip. "And how's Jasper doing?"

"He's getting there. He decided to move into a different apartment; he couldn't stand being in his and Angie's place any longer. But he seems to be coping alright. Work's keeping him pretty busy."

"Poor boy," Mom sighs, shaking her head. "Is he – no, I suppose it's far too soon …"

"He's gone on two dates, actually. But, yeah, he said his heart wasn't in it. He's not ready."

Mom nods, continuing to study me carefully.

"What's bothering you, son?"

I sigh, scrubbing my hand over my face. "I told you about Bella, didn't I? Garrett's cousin who's living with us?"

"You told me she'd moved in. That's about it; you haven't really told me much about her."

"It's taken me a while to get to know her," I explain. "She's … well, she's very closed off to most people. She's been through a lot, and she's pretty reluctant to open up."

"But she's opening up to you."

I blink at Mom in surprise, taken aback by her observation. "Uh, yeah. Slowly, but … yeah, she is."

Mom nods in understanding, the corners of her mouth twitching. "So is it on her account you're all wound up?"

"Yeah, I guess it is." I sigh, tugging at my hair. "She's got this crazy idea in her head and I'm freaking the f – … er, I'm freaking out about it."

Mom listens carefully as I explain the conversation I had with Bella this morning, and the concerns that have been plaguing me since I left the house. She doesn't interrupt as I spell out all the scenarios that have been tormenting me, letting me get them all off my chest, however ridiculous they may seem. When I finally fall silent, Mom squeezes my hand gently.

"Love, do you know if Bella has had many relationships?"

"Just one serious one that I know of. In high school, she dated this guy, Jacob, for a few years, but um, he died not long after she graduated. I, uh, I don't think she's been in a serious relationship since then."

Mom nods thoughtfully. "Sweetheart, I understand your concern, truly. And, to be honest, if Bella was my daughter I think I'd be panicking as well. But, really, I'm not sure there's anything you can do, other than make sure she's safe. I suppose you could try to convince her to change her mind – do you think she'd listen to you?"

"I don't know, Ma. I mean, she trusted me enough to tell me about Jacob … and her miscarriage –"

"She miscarried? Oh, the poor, sweet girl. To have gone through so much at such a young age." Mom shakes her head in disbelief. "Was the baby this Jacob's?"

I stare at Mom, shock causing my jaw to drop. Of course that's the logical conclusion to draw, if it's the only serious relationship Bella has been in, but somehow, I'd failed to draw that connection.

"To have lost her boyfriend, and his child … unimaginable." Mom sighs sadly. She's still lost in her own thoughts, unaware of the confusion and horror raging in me.

My fingers tap agitatedly against the table as I try to process this, drumming out an anxious, staccato beat.

"I, uh, I don't know if it was Jacob's, Mom." I finally manage to say. "She hasn't told me anything about it, other than the fact that she'd had a miscarriage. I don't even know how long ago it was, just that the baby was still quite, uh, young, I guess."

Mom sighs softly, and I can see the pain in her eyes – no doubt Bella's loss causes her to remember her own. I watch as her sad emerald gaze flickers toward the picture of Lizzy and me as week old babies, which hangs amid the collection of cheerfully colorful family photographs on the wall. The most important moments of our family history for several generations are mapped out across the navy blue feature wall: weddings, births, graduations, as well as those precious, but fleeting, moments of joy that someone, with a camera in the right place at the right time, has managed to capture.

Mom looks back at me, taking my hand in her own and squeezing it gently. It's a simple gesture that punctuates so many moments of my life, my Mom's unconditional support and care.

"Sweetheart, why don't you try to talk to Bella, if you're concerned? But, Edward, she's a grown woman, so ultimately, it's her decision to make."

"I know, Ma. I know. I've just been tormenting myself all day, imainging the worst possible scenarios. I just …" I sigh, dragging myself to my feet. "I'll give her a call."

"Why don't you have a rest? Lie down for a bit and by the time you wake up, dinner will be ready. Then you'll have plenty of time to get home before Bella does."

Passing out for a few hours seems really fucking attractive right now. I lean down to press a kiss to Mom's cheek.

"Sounds good Ma, thanks."

* * *

><p>"<em>Hey, this is Bella. Don't leave a message, 'cause I probably won't listen to it."<em>

I sigh, chucking my phone on the nightstand. Three times I've tried to call, three times I've reached Bella's voicemail. Resigned to spending my evening with my guts churning, I crawl under the covers of my childhood bed and hurl myself into oblivion.

When I'm dragged back into consciousness, I'm momentarily confused as to where I am. Fumbling around, I flick on the lamp on the nightstand – evening has fallen while I was sleeping. Rubbing at my face, I sit up, blinking sleepily. Spying it on the nightstand, I grab my phone, somewhat disappointed to see that Bella hasn't tried to call me back. I call her once more, and yet again I'm greeted by her snarky voicemail. Resigned, I climb out of bed and make it neatly, before pausing to let my eyes wander around the room.

In the years since I moved out, Mom has subtly updated my bedroom. It's still _my_ room, not just a generic 'spare' room for guests to use. The bookshelves and my desk she's left virtually untouched, but gone are the posters of the baseball players and scantily clad women of my youth. In their place are two vibrantly colored abstracts, and a series of black and white photographs of my friends and me spanning the various stages of childhood and adolescence. Sighing, I flick the lamp back off and make my way back downstairs.

Dinner is a quiet affair; Mom is lost in her own reflections, and Dad is exhausted after working nearly 24 hours straight. It's nice, though – comforting, easy, safe – sharing a meal with my parents. This table is a safe haven, a place I've always been able to come for counsel and comfort, advice and when necessary, chastisement.

I leave Mom and Dad's shortly before 9pm. I'm sure that's late enough that Bella will have headed out, but too early for her to be bringing someone home. Despite my nagging concerns, I feel physically calmer than I have all day. Stress still tightens my shoulders, but the tension has eased in my chest and breathing has become easier.

When I spy Bella's car in our driveway, I don't really think anything of it. I presume she's planning on drinking tonight, so I'm glad to see she's being sensible in that regard at least. It's one less thing for me to get myself worked up over. I'm also unsurprised by the fact that all the lights in the house seem to be on, even though I know Garrett won't be home tonight. Bella's considerate like that – she often leaves the porch light on for me on the evenings she knows I'll be getting in late.

However, as I open the front door and kick my shoes off, I'm shocked as hell by the banging, cussing and shouting coming from the kitchen. I hurry toward the sound of Bella's voice, the panic I've been working so hard to suppress building in my chest once more.

"Motherfucker!" Bella's shout coincides with what sounds like every single pot in the kitchen falling to the floor.

Peeking my head around the corner, I see that my guess wasn't too far off. Bella is standing amid an avalanche of saucepans, frying pans and baking trays, still swearing her head off.

"You're a stupid, fucked up little coward Isabella Swan!"

"Uh – Bella?" I call her name softly, not wanting to startle her.

"Fucking horny as fuck, but you're too much of a pussy to go get some. Shit. Shit …. ARGH! SHIT! Edward, you scared the hell out of me!"

Mid-rant, Bella had spun to face me, jumping in surprise when she saw me leaning against the doorjamb. Unfortunately, as she jumped, she managed to catch her foot inside one of the frying pans, which resulted in her falling on her ass as it skidded across the floor.

From her position on the kitchen floor, Bella looks as though she is unsure whether she should laugh or cry. Fortunately – and I suspect it has something to do with the half-empty bottle of Californian Chardonnay on the bench – she decides on the former. Bella's giggles ring through the kitchen and I can't help but chuckle as I take in the scene. I feel almost giddy with relief, knowing that Bella has clearly decided against seeking out a one-night stand. As Bella's laughter echoes through the kitchen, the stress and pent-up anxiety pour out of me, and my laughter takes on a slightly hysterical edge as I survey the beautiful, bewildered, and extraordinarily tipsy girl where she sits, surrounded by our cooking equipment.

"Uh, so you're home earlier than I expected …"

Bella's laughter dies on her lips at my statement. She sighs, reaching out her hand for my assistance. I carefully pull her to her feet, pleased to see that though she's clearly buzzed, she's definitely not completely wasted. She wobbles on her feet for a moment, and I catch her by the elbows, steadying her. Bella's gold-brown eyes blink up at me for a moment, before her plump pink lips stretch into a small smile.

"Will you help me?" she asks, indicating the pots strewn across the room. "I'm too flippin' short to reach the cupboard."

I snicker at her frown as I start stacking the pots away. Bella gathers them up from the floor, passing them to me as I place them easily in the cupboard over the stove.

"What happened?"

"I wanted the big pot," Bella sighs. "But I can't reach it, so I jumped up to grab it, and well, the rest of the pots came down, too."

"Ah." Garrett and I can reach the upper shelving easily, but Bella is a good ten inches shorter than me.

"Why didn't you use the stool, you goose?"

Bella blinks at me in surprise, before a sheepish smile steals across her face. "I forgot."

I nod my understanding, pointing at the wine bottle. "This wouldn't have anything to do with it, huh?"

"Definitely not," Bella tells me, shaking her head. She points her finger at me, the corners of her mouth twitching. "You don't cook wine, Edward."

"Touché."

"I wanted pasta."

"Would you like me to cook you some?" Bella having something to eat is probably a good idea at this point, particularly if she plans to keep drinking.

"Would you? Oh, Edward! Thank you!" Bella claps her hands, grinning in delight.

"Sure, sure." I wave off her thanks, moving around the kitchen easily to gather the ingredients I'll use to throw together a quick pasta dish.

"Have you eaten?"

"Uh, yeah, I had dinner with my parents."

"Oh, that's nice," Bella coos. "I miss my dad."

"Yeah?" I'm surprised that Bella volunteers this. "What do you miss about him?"

"My dad's very … calm. Stable. He's like a rock, y'know? He's not, like unfeeling, just, … he's got his own way of dealing with things. I dunno … when life's a raging storm, Dad's sturdy. He's …. He's like a mooring buoy."

"Like those floaty things you tie boats to in a harbor?"

"Yeah," Bella nods vigorously, the alcohol causing her to exaggerate her gestures. "You know, when the weather's dangerous, you sail into a harbor and you moor your boat. And so even though it's really fucking windy and the waves are treacherous, you're safe. The mooring holds you fast – keeps you safe and steady."

"And your dad keeps you steady?" I know I'm pushing it, taking advantage of Bella's momentary willingness to open herself up and wax poetic.

"Yeah, Dad's my mooring. Dad's my buoy." Bella giggles and I blink at her in surprise. "That's only funny if you've heard Garrett say 'buoy' …" she informs me seriously.

"I, uh, I can't say that we've talked about buoys very often." I tell her, scratching my chin.

"Garrett says 'boy'. Australians call them 'boys', not 'boo-eys'," Bella explains seriously.

"Okay …"

"So, he'd say, 'Dad's my boy'." Bella giggles again.

I raise an eyebrow at her amusement. "I see."

Bella senses that her joke is obviously funnier in her own mind than it is to me and she pokes her little red tongue out at me, pouting adorably.

"Bella." I take her shoulder gently and point her toward the kitchen table. "Your dinner's ready."

"Oh, that's great! I'm so, so hungry! You're so wonderful." Bella looks at me seriously as she takes a seat. I chuckle again as I place the pasta in front of her. I grab the wine bottle and pour a glass for myself, winking at Bella as I take a sip.

I wait until she's consumed most of her meal, apparently endlessly entertained by the linguine as she twirls it around her fork, before I retrieve the other bottle of wine I spied in the fridge and pour us another glass each.

We've relocated to the couch, and the wine bottle is virtually empty before I'm relaxed sufficiently to ask the question that's been nagging at me since I came home.

"Hey, Bella?"

"Hey, Ed-ward?" she sings, giggling. She pulls her feet up underneath her, turning on the couch so that she's facing me.

"I, um, I was just wondering why you're home, sweetheart?"

Bella sighs, her sweet smile slipping from her mouth.

"I couldn't do it, y'know? I thought I could. I mean, I'm, uh, feeling a little – UGH – this is so freaking embarrassing … I'm feeling _needy_, okay? But I … I just couldn't go screw some guy I didn't know. I've only been with two guys, and …" Bella shakes her head, her cheeks flushing.

I choose my words carefully, not wanting to upset her, or make her think I'm judging her.

"Um, I understand, really, but, uh, can't you, you know, uh … take care of things yourself?" Heat flames my cheeks as I speak, and I quickly down the last of my glass of wine.

"I can't."

My eyes snap up to meet Bella's, surprised both by her words and the frustration in her tone.

"Can't, or don't want to?" I ask warily.

"Trust me, I _want_ to," Bella mutters. "I just, _can't_. Seriously, I've tried. A lot. But, I just end up more frustrated than when I started."

I shift awkwardly in my chair; I'm all too aware of my body's physical response to my mind's running away with images of Bella _trying_. It's all I can do to restrain the groan forming on my lips as I imagine her delicate fingers dancing across her supple flesh.

"Have you tried, um …" I cough, trying to dislodge the raspiness that has settled in my voice. "Have you tried using, you know, toys and things?"

Bella shifts her position, and I watch, swallowing down the lump in my throat, as she squeezes the muscles in her thighs. Bella has really fucking sexy legs, I decide. I try really hard not to imagine them wrapped around my waist. I fail.

"Uh, yeah," Bella responds, and I startle, my eyes flicking guilty toward her face. "I've tried a few, but … uh – _fuck_ – I just can't seem to turn my brain off enough. I get myself all worked up, but I can't, you know … fall over the edge."

I blink at her stupidly for a few seconds, her words not really sinking in. Can't fall over the edge? She can't bring herself to orgasm? Huh. Chicks' bodies are weird. Or their minds are, I don't know. I can't say I can really empathize with her problem – mostly guys are more worried about finishing too fast.

Bella sighs and continues, seemingly unaware of the barrage of images with which she's just assaulted my mind.

"So, yeah, I thought if I went out and found a guy to sleep with, then maybe, just maybe, I could get rid of some of this damn tension. Because all I keep doing is making it worse."

"But … isn't it usually the other way around? Like, girls often complain that guys are too selfish and inept as lovers, and they're better off, uh, taking matters into their own hands?"

Bella huffs at me angrily. "Thanks, Edward. Remind me how fucking abnormal I am. That's really freaking awesome of you, thank you."

"Aw, shit, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to imply that there's anything wrong with you. I … I was just a little surprised. Really, I'm sorry." I grab Bella's hand, wanting her to understand the truth of my words. "Seriously, I'm sorry. I … uh … it must suck to be so wound up …"

"Bella?"

"Mmm," Bella looks up at me quickly, her face flushing. Shit. She was checking out the ridiculously obvious bulge in my pants.

"I'm sorry," I mutter.

"Don't be," Bella breathes, her voice suddenly husky. Oh … _fuck me_. She's getting turned on. An idea slams into my brain so hard it leaves me momentarily breathless.

"Bella, are you drunk?" I ask her carefully. I will not do this unless she's sufficiently in control of her faculties.

She considers it briefly, before she smiles. "I feel a bit buzzed, but I'm not drunk."

"Do you trust me?" I look directly into her dark eyes, willing her to take my question seriously. She nods, agreeing wordlessly, the intensity of her gaze letting me know that she understands what I'm asking. I watch the muscles in her throat work as she swallows.

"Yes," she finally rasps. "Yes, I trust you, Edward. You know I do."

"Tell me to stop and I will."

Bella nods furiously as I take her hand and pull her into my lap, settling her back against my chest.

I start slowly, gently walking my fingertips down her arms and enjoying the feeling of her relaxing against me, her head falling back onto my shoulder. Carefully, I slide her cardigan from her shoulders, exploring her smooth skin as it's revealed. My lips seek out her neck, pressing gentle, feathery kisses from her shoulder to her jaw. As my fingertips swirl up her arms and across her collarbone, Bella lets out a shuddering sigh. Gently, I tangle my fingers with hers, guiding her arms behind my neck. She anchors her fingers in my hair, tugging it lightly.

Hesitantly, I run my palms down her ribcage, then trace my index fingers up her sides, enjoying the feel of her soft curves and the increased pace of her breathing. Tentatively, my breath held, I allow my thumbs to sweep across her breasts, the thin fabrics of her bra and tank top doing nothing to hide her hardening nipples. Bella groans as I tease them, brushing gently until she grunts in frustration and shoves her chest forward in my hands. It's my turn to groan as I cup them, my hands kneading and exploring greedily.

As my fingers tease, pinching and plucking, Bella's hands tighten in my hair, and her legs fall open as she arches her back in pleasure. I part my own knees, forcing her legs to spread further, and a gentle moan vibrates through her body. The sound spurs me on, my hands becoming more demanding as they continue to explore her supple flesh. My lips do not leave her neck, nipping, sucking and kissing her silky skin as her chest heaves. A jolt of pride shoots through me: I am causing Bella to produce these sounds, I am eliciting these reactions from her.

Emboldened, my right hand snakes between her spread legs, mapping the contours of her thighs before I gently brush my knuckles against the inseam of her jeans. At my touch, Bella cries out, rocking her hips against my hand. I let her gasps and moans guide me, paying attention to the way she grips my hair, the way her body shows me what it needs.

I'm sure Bella can feel my hardness against her backside, but I'm too enraptured by her responsiveness to mind. As her hips begin to move more frantically, her ass rocks against me and the friction makes me groan in pleasure. I continue to play her like an instrument, delighting in the music I can draw from her lips. As tempted as I am to slip my fingers inside her jeans, I force myself to keep my hands outside her clothing, applying pressure where she so desperately seeks it.

When Bella whispers my name, I realize how close I am to the edge myself. I move my right hand more rapidly between her legs, as my left continues to dance from breast to breast, and my tongue snakes out to taste the sweet-saltiness gathering on her neck. When Bella stiffens and cries out my name, shaking with her release, I lose coherency. My left arm around her waist, I anchor her to me as I thrust against her ass once, twice, three times, and follow her into ecstasy, her name bursting unbidden from my lips.

When Bella sags against me, I bury my face in her hair, enjoying the sweet perfume of shampoo, sweat and sex that permeates the room. I hold her close, wrapping my arms around her gently, unwilling to let this moment end. Of course, end it must, and when I feel Bella start to squirm on my lap, I realize I need to shower and change. Pressing a kiss to her temple, I release her, waiting for her to pull away. Bella surprises me – turning on my lap, she presses a kiss to my cheek, then pulls me into a tight hug, tucking her head under my chin.

Against my chest, I feel more than hear her softly spoken "thank you." Smiling, I place another soft kiss to the top of her head, chuckling sleepily.

"Any time."

Bella holds me close for a few more moments before she staggers to her feet, her eyes heavy.

"Good night, Edward." Her smile is soft and warm, and I feel my heart stutter strangely.

"Good night, sweetheart."

I wait until I hear Bella's door close before I make my way to my own room. I shower and collapse into bed, relaxed but exhausted. My last thought before I lose consciousness is of the sound of my name on Bella's lips.

* * *

><p><strong>Whew. <strong>

**This was a nerve-wracking chapter to write, so please let me know what you think ...**

**Shell xx**

* * *

><p><strong>Also, the very lovely Bella Clary nominated my other story, <em>What I Wished For<em>, for an iSparkle Award (The Heart Strings Award). If you're so inclined, it'd be sweet if you'd head over and vote. Whilst you're there, please also cast a vote for my lovely friend _BelieveItOrNot_, who's up for The Sparkle Award. **

**ffnet is lame about links, but if you google "iSparkle Awards" you'll find it easily enough.**


	6. Ghosts: March  June 2009

**Chapter 5: Ghosts**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hey my lovelies!**

**My most enormous thanks and many snuggle-cuddles to BelieveItOrNot who catches my mistakes, helps me write better, indulges my requests for Bobby-spam, and is just one of my all-time favourite people. YMFC Tam xx**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ghosts<strong>_**, by Laura Marling.**

_**Opened up his little heart  
><strong>__**Unlocked the lock that kept it dark  
><strong>__**And read a written warning  
><strong>__**Saying I'm still mourning  
><strong>__**Over ghosts  
><strong>__**Over ghosts  
><strong>__**Over ghosts  
><strong>__**Over ghosts that broke my heart before I met you**_

_**Lover, please do not  
><strong>__**Fall to your knees  
><strong>__**It's not  
><strong>__**Like I believe in  
><strong>__**Everlasting love**_

* * *

><p><strong>March 2009.<strong>

I wake up with the taste of Bella's skin on my lips, and the memory of her under my fingertips. In the stillness of the morning, I allow my mind to wander, savoring my memories of the evening before. I remember the pleasant sting of Bella's fists tugging at my hair, the feel of her fleshy curves under my wandering hands, the sounds that bubbled from her lips as she reached her climax.

I find myself longing to know what her face looked like as she surrendered to pleasure. Keeping her face hidden from mine had seemed like a good idea at the time, to keep the whole encounter somehow impersonal. Instead, it has only served to instill in me a powerful longing to know exactly what I missed.

Uncomfortable and aroused, I groan as I roll out of bed. Under the steaming spray of the shower I stroke myself to orgasm, memories of Bella's cries and moans flooding my mind. Almost immediately, I'm overcome by shame. It can't be right to objectify Bella like that, to use those images for my own gratification. Guilt and worry gnaw at me – how will Bella react this morning? Honestly, I'm terrified. I don't want to be greeted by the words "We need to talk;" I don't want to hear her tell me it was a mistake.

Of course, Bella's reactions are never what I expect. When I finally gather the courage to leave my room, I find her humming to herself in the kitchen, brewing coffee the way I taught her to a few weeks ago. She grins at me, her face lighting up, and for a few moments, I bask in her approval.

Coffee and breakfast appear on the table before me, as Bella dances around the kitchen to the boppy tunes she's blaring. She seems lighter somehow, less careworn. While I'd like to take credit for relieving some of her tension – I'm almost certain there must be something deeper at play.

We eat breakfast in a familiar, comfortable silence, and all my earlier concerns now seem so silly. I help Bella clean up, drying and packing away the dishes as she scrubs them clean. We move in easy harmony, smirks and winks and easy banter being traded back and forth as we work.

After she drains the sink, Bella turns on me, her hands dripping with bubbles. She grins deviously as she wipes her hands down the front of my t-shirt, daring me to object. I look down at the soaked patch on my chest, shaking my head and chuckling. There is a part of me that delights in seeing Bella so playful and relaxed. Knowing her history, or the little of it that she has revealed to me, I feel a certain sense of pride at the comfort and ease she seems to have in my presence.

Catching me by surprise, Bella hooks her arm around my neck and tugs my head down to her mouth. "I had fun last night," she whispers, her breath warm against my neck. "We should do it again, soon."

And then she's gone. Her tiny frame disappears from the kitchen, leaving me both stunned and delighted in her wake. When I hear the front door close softly, I shake my head, a bemused smile spreading across my face.

"Hey man … Oi, Masen!"

I'm still standing in the middle of the kitchen, lost in thought, when Garrett's voice finally permeates my consciousness.

"Hey, Garrett, man. How're things?"

Garrett claps me on the shoulder, his blue eyes bright with laughter.

"Seriously, dude, how long have you been standing there? I've been calling your name for a good ten minutes."

I look at Garrett in surprise, before the smirk playing at his mouth lets me know that he's fucking with me.

"Fuck off," I tell him. "Do you even live here any more?"

Garrett shrugs and laughs. "For now, yeah."

"For now?" My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "I mean, I know things are going well with Katie. You're hardly ever here, but, what? Are you guys going to move in together, already?"

Garrett shrugs. "Eventually, yeah. I know we haven't been together heaps long, but I can't see myself wanting to be with anyone else, you know? I'm pretty sure I'll marry her, eventually."

I nod, though my insides are abruptly churning. Garrett must notice something in my expression, because he sighs and shoves me toward a chair at the breakfast table. I slump into the chair as Garrett pulls some soda out of the fridge. I shake my head at his silent question and he shrugs as he pours himself a glass.

"Look, Edward …" he sighs, placing his glass on the table. He spins a chair around and straddles it, his arms folding across the backrest. "Mate, how long are you going to let what happened with Jazz and Angela dictate _your_ life?"

"Excuse me?" The mere mention of Angela's name has me feeling angry and defensive, and my hands clench into fists where they lay on the table.

"No, fucking listen to me, alright? What Angela did to Jasper sucks arse, really. There's no excuse; he knows it, we know it, and hell, even Angie knows it. But, dude, Jazz has been on three dates this month, and you're still freaking the fuck out about it. You've taken it harder than he has, man. Why?"

"I'm not freaking out about it –"

"Bullshit, Edward. You should have seen your face when I mentioned marrying Katie. You looked like you were going to throw up or pass out. Dude, it doesn't make any fucking sense – I mean, how long have your parents been married?"

"Twenty-eight years. And I'm not scared of marriage, you imbecile."

"Really? When was the last time you went out on a date? Have you even spoken to a woman since you brought home that ranga chick?"

"I talk to Bella every day, asshole. You'd know that if you were ever around."

"Bella doesn't count, dickhead. She's as emotionally unavailable as you are."

"Excuse me?" The protectiveness I feel over Bella kicks in instantly; cousin or no, I'm not going to let Garrett badmouth her.

Garrett misunderstands my defensiveness. "I'm just saying, man. Just because Angela ended up being a cheating bitch doesn't mean every woman is going to fuck you over."

"Uh, yeah, I'm quite aware of that."

"Then what gives? I mean, when was the last time you went out with anyone other than me and Jazz?"

"I go out with Bella every week."

"Really?" Garrett looks shocked by this, but he's quick to shake his head. "Bella doesn't count, dude. Why don't you let me set you up with one of Katie's friends?"

"Not interested." I answer immediately, without even entertaining the offer.

Garrett pauses, probably trying to decide whether or not there's any point in arguing with me. I save him the trouble.

"Garrett, seriously. I appreciate the offer, but I'm not interested in looking for a girlfriend right now. I've got three months until I graduate. I've got job offers coming in already, and I don't have a fucking clue which one I should take, if any at all. One thing at a time, you know? A relationship's the last thing I need right now."

Garrett sighs in defeat. I've got him there; he knows as well as I do that too many changes at once will fuck with my mental health.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, man. But, you know, just keep your mind open to the possibility or whatever, okay?"

My shrug is non-committal. "Sure."

"And, uh, speaking of change and stuff …" Garrett shifts in his seat and I narrow my eyes at his sudden display of nerves. Noticing my increased tension, he waves me off. "Nah, it's not bad. Just, I, uh, I talked to my folks, you know, about the likelihood of me and Kate moving in together, and what that would mean …"

"As in, Bella and I will need to move elsewhere, won't we?"

"Well, no. Mum spoke with Renee – that's Bella's mum – and they don't really want her to have to move again so soon. So, uh, basically, if – _when_ – Kate and I move in together, it won't be into this place. So, you know, you can stay here as long as you want, really."

"Okay …"

"Well, I figure that's probably good for you as well, you know? So you don't have to deal with moving and starting work."

"Yeah, uh, thanks. Really." I fucking hate being treated as though I'm fragile – mostly because I know it's justified. This _will_ make my life easier, and I _will_ cope better with having to deal with transitioning from school to work if everything else remains stable.

"Cool. So, you've managed to convince Bella to get out of the house?"

"Uh, yeah." Even though Garrett is Bella's family, I'm reluctant to discuss her business with him. "We just head down the brewery once a week and hang out, you know."

"Huh. That's good to know."

"Why?" My annoyance is irrational, but I can't seem to temper it.

"Oh, you know – apparently she's not heaps social any more. Her Mom says she used to be, before –"

"Garrett, _shut up_."

Garrett blinks at me in shock, taken aback by the forcefulness of my tone.

"Seriously, dude. You shouldn't tell me stuff about Bella; she might not want me to know certain things, and you've gotta respect that." It's the truth, but it's not my only reason for cutting him off. I want to learn about Bella _from Bella_, not from Garrett, not from his Mom and her Mom's gossip. I want Bella to let me know her in her own time, on her own terms.

Garrett's expression is immediately contrite. "You're right, shit. I just thought, you know, if you're hanging out with her, then maybe you should know."

"Anything I need to know, I'm sure she'll tell me."

Garrett sighs, his expression unconvinced. "If you say so, man. Anyway, I caught Bella on my way in and I thought it'd be cool to all hang out tonight, if you're not busy? She said she'd be back before dinner. I, uh, thought we could just order pizza … you know, hang out."

I feign shock. "What, is Katie busy, or something?"

"Oh, you're one hilarious fucker … Nah, man, she's coming over, too. So, what do you say?"

I'm immediately suspicious of Garrett, and I wonder if this is something he's being nagged to do by his mother or his aunt – to spend some time with his poor, damaged cousin. The thought pisses me off. Bella might be fragile, and she's clearly been through hell, but she's got more strength than her family seems to give her credit for. Still, I'm not going to pass up an evening in her company.

"Yeah, sure. I'll head out and pick up some beer in a while."

"Cool."

* * *

><p>"Okay Bella, it's your turn …"<p>

"Don't wanna."

"Come on, girl."

"Nope."

"Belllllaaaaa."

"Don't care. Not gonna do it."

I have to shake my head in amusement as Bella and Katie stare each other down. They look so very different: Katie is blond and tall and thin, where Bella is dark-haired, petite and curvy; and yet it seems they have one thing in common – an incredibly stubborn streak.

Garrett watches them continue to bicker, a slight smile on his tanned face. He catches my eye and raises an eyebrow, expressing his surprise at his cousin's bout of feistiness. I shrug, annoyed. Honestly, it's ridiculous how little he knows Bella. She feels safe, comfortable, in this house, and it shows.

"Fine," Bella shouts suddenly, stamping her foot in frustration. "Edward, come here."

I stand obediently, moving toward Bella and the pile of phonebooks stacked in the middle of the living room.

"I need at least half a dozen more," she informs Katie cockily.

"Are you sure?" I ask her quietly. Bella doesn't answer, presenting me instead with her raspberry red tongue and a roll of her eyes. Katie smirks and adds six more phonebooks to the stack.

"If I fall … for fuck's sake, Edward – catch me."

I shake my head, but take another step toward Bella. She sighs, carefully placing her hands on the edges of the top phonebook. The pile now stands about three and a half feet tall. She flexes her hands a few times, testing its stability. Then, quickly, easily, she bounces off her feet, shifting her weight onto her hands as she holds herself up on the stack of books. I blink, and she's standing on the top of the stack, her arms folded, smirking down at Katie. She waits the requisite ten seconds, before jumping from the top of the stack, landing lightly on her feet.

"Your turn," Bella says, pointing at Garrett.

"Fuck, no," he says, eyeing the stack with trepidation.

"You." Bella's finger is aimed in my direction.

"Pass."

Bella huffs and rolls her eyes. "So when I say no, I get pestered incessantly, but you two just get to bow out? Pathetic. Katie! You're up."

There is no response, and Bella peers around me to the armchair Katie is sprawled across.

"Lightweight." Bella snorts. "Garrett, move her – she'll wake up with a sore neck."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm going to head to bed myself." He yawns. Scooping up his sleeping girlfriend, he murmurs his goodnight and disappears down the hallway.

I turn to Bella, smiling. "That was impressive."

She giggles and waves her hand toward the stack. "That was nothing. I can probably do four more."

"Prove it."

Bella arches an eyebrow at my challenge. She retrieves four more phonebooks and hoists them onto the stack. It's well over four feet tall now. She grabs her beer, takes a deep pull and hands it to me. I watch, impressed as she quickly scales the stack of books. She's like a fucking monkey or something. It seems to take her no effort at all, and then she's standing on top of the stacked books, her shoulders hunched to prevent her head from connecting with the ceiling.

"Impressive." I grin up at Bella. "Where the fuck did all these phonebooks come from, anyway?"

"I collect them."

I look up at Bella's face, trying to determine if she's messing with me. "Really?"

"Of course not. What the hell would I want with twenty-odd phonebooks? I think Katie played this game with some kids on a summer camp, or something. They were in the hall cupboard."

"Huh." I guess I don't really pay much attention to the hall cupboard. I'm not sure I even knew we had one.

"Alright, Bella, get down. You're making me nervous."

Bella smirks, shifting her weight. Her expression swiftly changes from cocky to panicked as she feels the stack under her start to give way. In my haste to get to her before she falls, I trip, stamping on my untied shoelace. I stumble frantically, but manage to right myself in time to catch Bella, just as the tower of phonebooks collapses with a dull thud.

Still cradled in my arms, Bella starts to giggle and squirm. I look between her and the enormous pile of phonebooks scattered across the living room and chuckle.

"Fucking hell."

Bella smiles up at me, her eyes bright with laughter, as I swing her feet back to the ground, making sure she's steady before I release her. My hands are reluctant to leave her skin – it feels somehow good, right, to have her in my arms. The fingers of my left hand twist themselves into my hair, tugging at it fiercely, as though to pull my thoughts from the direction they're headed. It doesn't help – it serves only to remind me of the feel of Bella's little fists anchored in my hair last night.

Bella's dark eyes watch me carefully, and she smiles gently. Standing on her tiptoes, she presses a soft kiss to my cheek.

"Goodnight, Edward."

"Goodnight, Bella." I watch her disappear down the hall; equal parts disappointed and relieved.

* * *

><p><strong>June 2009.<strong>

The final few months of my college career speed past in a blur of papers, exams and interviews. It's hectic and draining, but I work hard – one final burst of effort to propel me through. I move between my desk at home and the library, and occasionally to the offices of potential employers, barely aware of the warmer temperatures and sunnier skies.

I narrow down the job offers to half a dozen, but I'm still no closer to figuring out which one I ought to accept. I'm leaning toward the more research-based roles, jobs that will allow me to spend my hours chasing figures and numbers. Essentially, the roles that will afford me minimal human interaction.

I have virtually no contact with anyone other than my professors and potential employers, though Bella drags me out of the house for our weekly visit to the brewery. It's an interesting role reversal, but I'm grateful for her friendship, as well as her stubborn refusal to let me bow out, no matter how stressed out I'm feeling.

And then, finally, I am done.

It's quite anticlimactic, really. As I leave the hall in which I sat for my final econ exam, it doesn't seem real. It feels just like the end of any other semester. I don't feel any great sense of weight lifting from my shoulders, any particular sense of achievement. If anything, I'm suddenly feeling even more stressed out, because I know I need to make a decision, choose the direction in which I want to start my career.

I drive home in a bit of a daze, looking forward to kicking back with Bella and a few beers. The last thing I expect, or want, is to find Mike Newton sitting on my doorstep when I arrive home.

"Mike," I greet him coolly, too exhausted to pretend I'm glad to see him.

"Hey." His greeting is cold, and unenthusiastic. _Odd_.

"Uh, what's up? What're you doing out here?"

"Bella wouldn't let me in."

"Oh?"

"She said something about not letting guys she doesn't really know into the house while she's home alone."

It's an effort to contain my smirk, but somehow, I manage to keep my face neutral.

"Look, Masen. She told me you guys are dating. What the fuck, dude? You knew I liked her. Why'd you have to go after her?"

"Uh …" Bella told him what? Confused, I frown at him.

"I came over to ask her if she'd come to Em's party with me, but she said she couldn't, 'cause she's dating you. You're such a dickhead, you know? I mean, what the hell, man? I thought we were friends."

"Um, sorry?" I start edging toward the door.

Mike sighs, heaving himself to his feet. Instead of making to leave, as I hoped he would, he stands with his hands stuffed in his pockets as I unlock the front door. When I swing the door open, he steps inside ahead of me. I shrug, and follow him inside.

As I kick off my shoes, Bella comes bounding down the hallway, darting around Mike and coming to a stop in front of me, her eyes wide.

"Hey, baby," she coos.

I hesitate, my head still spinning. I've barely spoken to Bella in the last three days; having spent most of my time with my nose firmly planted in my Econometrics textbooks.

Bella looks up at me, her eyes wide, silently pleading with me to follow her lead. I chuckle softly as she stands on tiptoe to press her lips to my jaw. Impulsively, I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her against me.

"Hi sweetheart," I murmur. I dip my head and press my lips to hers, mentally high fiving myself when I feel her soft mouth respond to my kiss. Then, just because I've wanted to since the first time I laid eyes on her, I grab her ass and give it a good squeeze. I feel Bella's lips curve into a smile against my own, and I chuckle, before reclaiming her lips.

When Mike starts to cough loudly and deliberately, I pull back, offering Bella a wink and a smirk. Bella spins to face Mike, her eyes narrowing.

"Baby, I'm going to shower. Don't forget we need to leave in about half an hour, okay?"

_We do?_ "Um, sure, okay. I need to change and shower as well."

Without sparing Mike another glance, Bella flounces back toward her bedroom, her dark hair swinging. I watch her, appreciating the sway of those curvy hips, until I realize Mike is also enjoying the view a little more than I would like.

"Ah, look, dude … I'm sorry about all this, really. It, well, it just sort of happened … believe me, I wasn't expecting it, either."

"Whatever, Edward." Mike pouts, his resemblance to his twelve year-old self startling. "Maybe you could get her to bring some hot friends to Emmett's. It's the least you could do."

I beat down the irritation I feel at Mike's sense of being "owed" something, as though he had "first dibs" on Bella – like she was a choice donut or whatever.

"I'll talk to her," I offer. "But, um, dude, I gotta take a shower and change as well, so … I, uh, I guess I'll catch you later?"

"Yeah, sure. I get it; I'm going."

I wait for Mike to climb back in his car and pull away from the curb before I head into my bedroom to get ready for whatever the hell Bella's decided we're doing – if we're actually doing anything at all. Obviously her little show was to get Mike off her case, and though I'm not at all bothered by the position she's put me in, I am slightly put out that my first taste of her sweet lips was in the presence of that pouty little fucker.

Once I've showered, dealt with my kissing-Bella-induced arousal, and dressed, I wander back out into the living room, feeling a little apprehensive. I'm not sure I've ever put as much thought into getting dressed as I did just now. Wanting to look casual, but be dressed nicely enough – in case Bella was actually serious about heading out tonight – I've opted for dark denim jeans, a white tee and left my pale blue shirt unbuttoned. If we're just kicking at home, I'm not over dressed, and if we are actually going out – I just need to fasten my shirt buttons.

I throw myself down on the couch, waiting for Bella to reappear. She doesn't keep me waiting long, skipping out of her bedroom in yet another pair of those damn skinny jeans and some kind of cute, floral gauzy blouse-thing that hangs off one shoulder. Knowing, as I do, the way the exposed skin on her shoulder feels under my fingers, how it tastes, how it smells – her simple, unassuming outfit becomes almost unbearably sexy.

"So, uh … " I clear my throat, trying to dislodge the huskiness that has settled into my voice. "Do you want to explain to me what happened earlier?"

Bella shrugs, trying to look unconcerned. I see her nerves, however, in the way she twists her fingers together, and the way she has to force herself to meet my eyes. "You don't mind, do you? He, uh, he wouldn't back off, and it seemed a good way to get him off my case."

"I don't mind, _baby_." I wink as I exaggerate the pet name she pulled on me earlier.

Bella chuckles and shakes her head. "Good. Because we're going to a party tonight and you're my boyfriend, okay?"

"Is Mike going to be there?" I tilt my head, confused as to how Bella would have been invited to a party that a group of my friends would be attending.

"Uh, not that I know of …" Bella sighs, looking contrite. She chews her lip for a moment before she moves to sit beside me, curling her legs up underneath her. She hesitates, then grabs hold of my hand, squeezing it gently. As she speaks, she begins to trace the lines of my palm absently. "Listen, Edward … I've been through a lot of shit, and I haven't really dealt with some of it too well. I'll tell you more of it some other time, alright? Just … as a consequence, I'm not really ready to be thinking about dating, and I'm a little sick of people not accepting that. So, tonight, would you be okay with pretending to be my boyfriend?"

I smile easily, though my heart aches a little at her admission. "Tonight, tomorrow, anytime, sweetheart."

"No, no, don't be silly, I wouldn't do that to you. I don't go out very often, but I promised Alice I'd come tonight – I've been flaking out on every party she's thrown for months, but she's a persistent little bitch."

I sigh, squeezing Bella's delicate fingers softly. She's giving up a lot, letting me see a little more of her pain, and I feel compelled to show her a little of myself in return.

"Bella, listen, sweetheart. I, uh, I have a fuckton of issues myself, and you're right, tonight's not the night to talk about them, but … as a result, I'm not in a place where I can even think about starting a relationship. So, basically ... what I'm saying is that I'm happy to be your pretend-boyfriend, whenever you need me to, okay?"

Indecision and uncertainty are plain on Bella's face, in her narrowed eyes and pursed lips. I take a gamble, hoping to make her relax and laugh.

"I have a condition, though …"

Bella's eyes widen and I see a flash of panic before she processes my smirk and the tone of my voice.

"Let's hear it." She smiles nervously.

"Well, I thought our first kiss was pretty shitty, you know? What with Mike trying to paw all over you …"

"Is that right?" Bella murmurs, her eyes darting towards my mouth. "Well, we can't have that …"

"No, we really can't," I agree. My eyes flick downwards as well, admiring Bella's full lips, remembering their soft sweetness. I lick my own lips absently, searching for traces of her taste, and enjoying the way Bella's eyes follow the movement of my tongue.

Surprising me, Bella swings a leg across my lap, moving to straddle me carefully. Her mouth is mere inches from my own, and my lips part, my breath stuttering at her proximity.

"We'll have to make our second kiss more memorable, then." I can feel Bella's whispered words caressing my skin.

"Much more memorable."

Bella's eyes flutter closed as she nods once, her long, dark lashes dancing softly on her smooth cheek.

Tentatively, I press my mouth to hers, delighting in the smoothness of her supple lips as they move languorously against my own. This kiss is sweet, caring, gentle. It is not a kiss of passion or promise; it is a kiss shared purely for its own sake.

I war with the desire to deepen our kiss, to explore Bella's mouth more fully, but I make the decision to let her lead, to let her set our boundaries. When I feel her soft tongue asking a quiet question of me, I answer it affirmatively, parting my lips immediately. We kiss, and kiss, and kiss, exchanging breath and gentle gasps as we both discover and reveal.

We pull apart by unspoken but mutual agreement. Face-to-face, we sit, silent, as chests heave, eyes wonder, and hearts thump wildly. My hand moves unbidden to cup Bella's cheek, a slight smile tugging at my lips. She does not recoil from my touch, but leans gently into my palm, her eyes closing once more. Her trust in me is staggering, humbling, breathtaking.

"Much more memorable," she sighs.

Bella allows herself a few more seconds of my touch before she sits up straight, putting a few more inches distance between us.

"I don't really want to stay at this party too long, Edward … But, uh, do you maybe want to go have a few drinks afterward?"

My smile comes easily. "That sounds perfect. But –"

"But what?" Bella frowns.

"How long have we been dating?"

"Hmm. Good question. Three weeks? Does that sound reasonable?"

"Yeah. Three weeks is good. But, I think that means we have a problem."

"We do?" Bella starts to fidget nervously on my lap.

"Yeah. I think to be convincing, I might need to kiss you a bit more."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Make sure we've got some good technique happening. Pretty sure I would have spent a lot of time kissing you if I'd been dating you for three weeks."

"Oh, right … Um, yeah, I suppose we need to look like we're familiar with each other's mouths, huh?"

I grin, thrilled that Bella is still playing along. "Definitely."

Bella brings her mouth back to mine, and once again, I'm immediately lost in the sweet taste of her lips. When we finally pull apart, breathless, Bella is smiling, her dark eyes dancing.

"So, do you think we'll be able to convince everyone?"

"Uh, yeah." I shift her in my lap, trying not to let her see just how convinced the rest of my body is. "Yeah, I think we should be able to pull this off."

* * *

><p><strong>Please review, my sweethearts?<strong>

**Also, feel free to come twitter with me shellisthimbles.**

**And go read _High Fidelity _by IReen H. Seriously. Do it. **


	7. Everybody Here Wants You: June 2009 cont

**Chapter 6: Everybody Here Wants You**

**A/N: Hey my lovelies! Thank you to everyone who is reading, reviewing, tweeting, favouriting and recommending. I am so very grateful to you all!**

**Extra-special thanks to my lovely friend Tam, who gives up her time to help me write better, encourage me, and make me laugh. I heart you, sweet girl.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Everybody Here Wants You<strong>_**, Jeff Buckley**

_**Twenty-nine pearls in your kiss  
><strong>__**A singing smile  
><strong>__**Coffee smell and lilac skin  
><strong>__**Your flame in me**_

_**I'm only here for this moment **_

_**I know everybody here wants you  
><strong>__**I know everybody here thinks he needs you  
><strong>__**I'll be waiting right here just to show you  
><strong>__**How our love will blow it all away**_

_**Hmm, such a thing of wonder in this crowd  
><strong>__**I'm a stranger in this town  
><strong>__**You're free with me  
><strong>__**And our eyes locked in downcast love  
><strong>__**I sit here proud  
><strong>__**Even now you're undressed in your dreams with me …**_

* * *

><p><strong>June 2009 cont.<strong>

Apparently, Bella really, really likes kissing me.

Well, maybe she just likes kissing in general, but I'd like to think I'm playing some small part in making it enjoyable for her. Either way, she seems quite fine with foregoing Alice's party to continue with our "practice."

"Bella, sweetheart." I murmur against the assault of her lips. "I, uh, if we don't stop, we're going to end up running late to your friend's party." My protest is half-hearted – I'm really quite content with her warm weight in my lap, her soft arms wrapped around my neck, her little fingers tugging at my hair.

Bella pulls back, pouting. Her lips are now a deep red, swollen with my kisses. She squirms on my lap, and my hands drop to her hips, trying to keep her from moving against my obvious arousal.

"That's fine by me. I didn't want to go in the first place."

I grin at her, ducking my head to evade her lips as she seeks out mine again.

"If we're not going out, we don't need to practice, you goose."

She blinks at me, and I grin, amused at the effect I'm having on her. I don't think she's listening to me – she's watching my lips move, but I'm almost positive that she's not thinking about the words coming out of them.

"Bella!"

"Huh?" She blinks again, her dark eyes widening as they snap back up to meet my gaze. I chuckle as her cheeks flood with color.

"I said: if we're not going to this party, then any practicing we're doing is kinda unnecessary."

"Oh … _Oh!_ Well, let's go. Are you ready? Am I ready?"

Bella scrambles off my lap, swaying a little on her feet as she looks herself up and down.

"You look great," I assure her, heaving myself to my feet. I copy her movement, double-checking my own appearance. Awkwardly, my hands slide into my pockets so I can adjust myself. Bella watches me, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. My cheeks heat as she observes me; apparently she enjoys having an effect on me as much as I do her.

"Come on, little brat."

Bella giggles as I nudge her with my shoulder, then swat her backside as she darts off to grab her shoes.

Of course, she returns with some red fucking high heels. I groan as I watch her slip her tiny feet into them – what is it with this girl and her damned sexy shoes? And what the fuck is with me paying attention to a girl's shoes?

"Edward?"

"Huh?"

"Are you ready to go?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so."

Bella is looking at me strangely. "What?" I ask, frowning.

"Nothing. Let's go, _baby_."

* * *

><p>"Bella! Bella! Bellaaaaaa! You came! I totally expected you to bail, but you didn't – you're here and I'm so excited! Come in. You look fabulous! I love your shoes, where did you get them? Oh, who –"<p>

"Slow down, chick." Bella cuts across the babbling of the tiny, raven-haired girl who answers the front door of the townhouse Bella directed us to. She's a cute, trendy little thing, who looks like she's of Asian descent – I vaguely remember Bella telling me about a Vietnamese girl she took classes with, so I gather this is the girl she was referring to.

"Sorry, I get carried away," the girl admits and Bella snickers in amusement. That's a freaking understatement. She looks up at Bella, still beaming. Yeah, she has to look _up_ at Bella – she probably wouldn't even stand five feet tall.

"I'm really glad you came, B."

"Well, I promised I'd come, Al," Bella sighs, shifting her feet. Laughter and chatter wafts out of the open door on the night air, underscored by a throbbing bass beat.

"Hi! I'm Alice. Bella and I have a few classes together," Hyper-girl announces, turning her attention to me. I smile easily as I shake her hand. For a tiny person, she's got a fierce handshake.

"Edward." I tell her. "Bella's boyfriend."

I wink at Bella, who rolls her eyes at me, but can't quite suppress her smile.

"I've heard lots about you, Edward." Alice beams.

"Uh, you have?" I'm taken aback by her pronouncement.

"Oh yeah, Bella talks about you all the time," she giggles. Bella looks completely mortified by Alice's revelation, and I can't help but chuckle at the blush that blooms across her cheeks.

"Oh really?" I smirk. Bella shakes her head in embarrassment, and I take pity on her. "Well, I suppose that's fair – I spend all my time talking about her," I tell Alice with a grin. Bella's head snaps up to look at me, her eyes narrowed.

"Aww, you guys are just adorable," Alice coos.

Alice seems to remember we're still standing on her doorstep, because she suddenly swings the door open wide and gestures for us to enter. "Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry! Come on in, please!"

Bella grabs my hand as we make our way through the townhouse. A few people greet her amicably – people, she tells me under her breath, whom she knows from various classes she takes. I watch the way Bella interacts with her peers curiously. She's polite, friendly, funny even, but I can see the distance she keeps – both figuratively and physically.

I leave her making small talk with a few girls from one of her linguistics classes while I go in search of some beer.

"So, is the old saying true?"

"They usually aren't," I reply, popping the top off both my beer and Bella's, before turning to look at the guy addressing me. He's a smarmy looking fucker; there's something in his expression that makes me immediately want to slam my fist into his face.

"So, it's not true then, that the quiet ones are the wildest in the sack?"

The muscles in my jaw clench immediately, and my fingers tighten around the bottles of beer I'm holding. Smarmy-face leers at me, raising his eyebrows suggestively, as he jerks his head in Bella's direction. Did he really think I didn't know exactly what he was insinuating? For fuck's sake.

"You're really not expecting me to answer that, are you?"

Clearly the fucker is even dumber than he looks, because he grins at me and licks his lips as he glances toward my girl. "What? Inquiring minds, y'know? Help a brother out – me and the guys have been taking bets. I bet she's a total firecracker, isn't she? Man, we've all been trying to get into her pants since she transferred here, and you, my friend, have succeeded in cracking Fort Knox."

I glance beyond him to the two guys he indicates with a wave of his hand. They seem slightly sharper than the douche-bag in front of me, as they both shake their heads in denial and quickly melt away into the crowd.

"What's your name, man?" I ask him through gritted teeth.

"I'm Alistair, champ. And you are?"

"Edward." I take a step toward him, moving right into his personal space, and glaring down at his smug face. I use my height to my advantage, forcing him to crane his neck backwards to meet my eyes. "Listen here, you little weasel. If you_ ever_ make another sleazy comment about Bella, or any other woman for that matter, in my presence, I will not hesitate to slam my fist into your ugly mouth, do you understand me?"

"Can't you take a joke?" he whines.

Anger is boiling in me, burning hot through my veins. I slam the beers down on the table and quickly grab him by the collar, forcing him to look at me closely. His pale blue eyes widen in terror – finally the little bastard understands just how much he's pissed me off.

"Oh, I can take a joke just fine, you little shit," I spit through my teeth. "But the way you're talking isn't funny. It's completely unacceptable." Over his shoulder, I see Bella moving in my direction, apprehension straining her features.

"Right now, you're really fucking lucky that I'd rather go hang out with my girlfriend than waste my time with you." I fight the urge to shake him, instead pushing him away forcefully. He stumbles back a few paces, wide-eyed and shaken.

"Edward?" Bella's soft voice is laced with worry, and her warm hand curves gently around my elbow. I look down into her eyes, concern and care written in them. Almost immediately, the scorching rage drains from my veins.

"Are you okay, baby?" she asks me quietly.

"I'm fine, sweetheart," I assure her, pulling her into my arms. Holding her close feels like a calming breath, and I press a kiss into her hair gratefully.

"What was that about?" she asks, her brow furrowed.

I sigh, releasing her from my embrace and retrieving our beers.

"Nothing, really," I tell her, handing her a chilled bottle. "I was just reminding him of his manners."

"Oh." Bella takes on a knowing expression, and I gather this isn't the first inappropriate remark Alistair's made about her. She sighs and lifts her beer to her lips, taking a deep drink. I copy her, enjoying the slight bitterness of the amber liquid as it slides down my throat.

"I should talk to a few more people, and then we'll get out of here, okay?"

I'm quick to agree, and Bella smiles slightly as she grabs my hand and pulls me after her. She introduces me to a few more people, though their names escape me – I'm too focused on watching the way Bella interacts with them, the way she keeps chatter light and easy, moving from group to group without letting the conversation achieve any depth.

By nine o'clock, we're sitting in our little booth at the brewery, Etta James crooning softly in the background. I have one beer before I switch to water, while Bella steadily works her way through the locally brewed beer range.

Around eleven, we're sharing an enormous bowl of fries, while Bella tries to convert me to mayonnaise – apparently her preferred condiment for deep-fried potato. I stick to ketchup.

By midnight, she's pouting as I refuse to dance to Louis Armstrong with her. I'm a stick-in-the-mud apparently, allowing society to stifle my creative expression by refusing to dance where there is no dance floor.

At one in the morning, I'm half-carrying a very giggly Bella through our front door. She's not an obnoxious drunk, thankfully, just an incredibly cheerful one.

"You're so good at this, Edward," she tells me seriously. "You're the best fake-boyfriend I've ever had."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," I tell her. I chuckle to myself as I place her on the couch, before kneeling down to help her out of those sexy red heels.

"I bet you're a really awesome not-fake boyfriend, too," she sighs.

"I don't know about that, Bella." Still kneeling in front of her, I look up into her sleepy, smiley eyes.

"Psshhh, you're a total sweetheart. I'm sure you're, like, the perfect boyfriend."

I say nothing – it's not the right time to be delving into my dating history.

"Edward?"

"Yes, Bella?" I pull myself to my feet and collapse on to the couch beside her.

"If we'd really been dating for three weeks, would you have tried to get in my pants yet?"

"Uh, I guess. Yeah, probably," I stammer, tugging at my hair.

"We should practice that, too, then." Bella crawls onto my lap, straddling me. "You know, to be convincing."

"Bella, sweetheart, no." I pick her up carefully, shifting her so that she is seated sideways on my lap. "Even if we were really dating, I wouldn't try to sleep with you for the first time while you were drunk."

Bella sighs and tucks her head against my chest. I can feel her murmuring, the vibrations passing from her chest to my own. I tilt my head closer but all I catch are snippets – "perfect fucking fake-boyfriend"… "freaking horny"… "not even that drunk."

I shake my head as she continues to mutter under her breath; I'm torn between amusement at her soft, drunken diatribe, and heartbreak as I wonder once again why this sweet, funny girl is so adamantly alone. Why has she closed herself off so securely? I understand the suffering she's endured is immense, but she's so young – she can heal, surely? Has she given up completely, like me? It's tragic – I can see so clearly that, unlike me, she has so much to give.

I sigh, stroking her tangled tresses gently, while my other arm snakes its way around her waist. I hold her close, breathing in the subtle scent of her perfume. Having her in my arms eases something in my chest that I didn't even know had tightened. After a few minutes, her quiet murmurs peter out, and her breathing deepens: she's asleep. Once again, she steals my breath away with the unconditional trust she seems to have in me.

Cradling her carefully, I stand, staggering slightly under her weight. I carry her carefully down the hallway, flipping the light switch in her bedroom on with my elbow. I've never been in here, I realize as I look around. I lay Bella carefully on her unmade bed, pulling the vibrant red and orange comforter up to cover her. Bella sighs softly, turning onto her side and tucking her little hands under her cheek.

Unable to resist, I take the opportunity to look around Bella's room briefly – not that there's much to see. The walls are still a stark white, though one wall is completely obscured by heavily laden bookcases. She has a desk in the corner, which is covered with more books, reams and reams of paper, and a newish looking MacBook. There are a few pieces of clothing scattered across the floor, and another pile of books on her nightstand.

Also on the nightstand are the only two personal mementos in the room: two framed photographs. One features a young woman who looks a lot like Bella, holding a tiny baby, and standing in the arms of a man with Bella's gold-brown eyes. Presumably these are Bella's parents. It is the second photograph, however, that makes my breath catch in my throat – a laughing Bella in the arms of a shirtless, dark-skinned boy. Jacob, I guess. Uneasiness settles into my gut as I contrast Bella's eyes, sparkling with delight, with Jacob's: dark and vacant, haunted. I wonder if he was already unwell when this picture was taken.

But …

I frown as I look at the picture a little more closely. Physically, Jacob looks to be the picture of health, his bare torso revealing strong, defined muscles. My eyes are drawn back to his; the familiarity of his gaze is unsettling.

I glance back down at Bella uneasily. As I watch, she rolls onto her back, a slight smile tugging at her lips. In this unguarded moment, she looks so young and vulnerable. Jacob's face fades from my mind easily as I watch my beautiful girl sigh in her sleep, her dark hair splayed across the pillow, her eyelashes fluttering gently against her cheek.

Stooping down, I carefully sweep a few tendrils of hair from her face, and press a soft kiss to her forehead. "Goodnight, Bella."

* * *

><p>"Edward! Hey! Wake up!"<p>

"Nope." I grunt and roll over, throwing my forearm across my eyes, disconcerted by the fact my bed seems to be rocking unpleasantly. We've had three late nights in a row, dragging ourselves to end of semester parties that neither of us wanted to attend. Still, this fake-dating thing makes them significantly more tolerable. We've been playing this game for two weeks now, and apparently, we're still new enough in our _relationship_ that people find it "sweet" that we steal away into the corner to giggle and gossip, or when we sneak out far too early in the evening.

"You have to wake up, Edward. It's your birthday!"

I open my eyes somewhat reluctantly, bemused by the sight of the crazy, dark-haired girl who is cheerfully using my mattress as a trampoline.

"What the fuck, Bella?" I whine. Since when is she a morning person? I usually have to ply her with coffee before she'll offer me more than a groan.

"Sit up, sit up, sit up!" She cries, still bouncing up and down on my bed.

It's impossible to for me to be pissed off by this rude awakening when I see the smile Bella sports for me. She looks so damn adorable – her face flushed, her eyes shining with happiness, and her hair a wild, tangled mess.

"Alright, Bella, sweetheart; I'm awake, okay?"

"Excellent!" Bella bounces once more, but this time flops down onto her ass. She crosses her legs and looks at me expectantly as I reluctantly drag myself to sit against the headboard.

Glancing at my alarm clock, I shake my head in disgust. "Bella, it's not even seven o'clock!"

"I fucking love birthdays, Edward. So quit whining and be excited!"

"Alright, alright, I'm excited." My voice drips with sarcasm, but secretly, I'm a tiny bit delighted by Bella's enthusiasm. I make a mental note to make a really big deal of her birthday come September.

"Is Gar home this morning?" I ask her quietly.

"Nah, he stayed at Katie's last night." Bella shrugs, her eyes straying to the purple mark on my left cheek. Garrett flipped his shit when he saw Bella and I carrying on at a party two nights ago.

* * *

><p><em>We've retreated to an armchair in the corner of Lauren and Jess' living room. Bella is perched sideways on my lap, which suits our purposes quite well – it keeps the dating charade going, and it also makes us look sufficiently unapproachable, so we can carry on our own conversation without being interrupted.<em>

"_You're not even close," Bella whispers, giggling quietly._

"_That English girl-band? The Spice Girls? No, no, I know – Hanson? It was totally Hanson, wasn't it? And I bet you had a crush on the girly-looking one." _

"_Fuck off." Bella slaps me playfully. "They all looked girly, and no, I did not have a crush on any of them. Guess again." I'm trying to guess the first CD she ever purchased, and I'm having fun annoying her by guessing music that I know she would absolutely despise._

"_Give me a clue. What year did you buy it?"_

"_Um." She tilts her head, absently twirling a strand of her dark hair around her finger as she thinks. "I'm fairly sure it was '99. I bought it with some of the money I got for my thirteenth birthday, so yeah, 1999."_

"_Silverchair. Neon Ballroom." I guess. Bella looks at me, a surprised smile stretching across her face as she nods enthusiastically._

"_Girl, you've got taste." I press a kiss to her cheek as she giggles delightedly._

"_What the fuck?" Bella and I both jump in surprise as Garrett looms over us, fury shining in his eyes as he takes in our intimate position._

"_Oh, shit," Bella mutters. "We should have filled him in."_

"_Uh-huh … Uh, Garrett, man, we need to talk, okay?" I keep my voice low, but jerk my head to indicate the sliding door that opens up to the patio. A few people have turned to watch the scene unfolding – we need to take this conversation outside._

_Bella climbs off my lap, squeezing my knee in reassurance as she stands. I can't believe we didn't consider the way Garrett would react to seeing us together. Bella moves to open the sliding door as I pull myself to my feet. Immediately, I feel the sting of Garrett's fist connecting with my cheekbone._

"_Fuck!" Shocked, I stumble backwards, moving out of his reach before he can land another blow._

"_You're fucking scum, Masen," he hisses, his fists still clenched. "You – ow!" He stops abruptly as Bella grabs him by the ear and starts tugging, swearing her head off at him. If I wasn't convinced he'd punch me again, I'd laugh at the sight of him, hunched over and staggering, as his tiny cousin pulls him outside with surprising ferocity._

_I start to follow but Bella shakes her head at me, telling me to go find something icy to put on my cheek. Obediently, I grab a cold can of soda and place it against my face, watching warily as Bella and Garrett argue on the tiny balcony. When they finally come back inside, Bella makes a beeline for me, wrapping her arms around me._

"_You okay?" she asks quietly._

"_I'm fine. Are _you_ okay?"_

"_Yeah," she sighs. "He's a fucking idiot, but it'll be fine."_

* * *

><p>"He'll get over it, Edward." Bella assures me, snapping my attention back to her.<p>

"I hope you're right," I mutter. When I spoke to him yesterday, he was rather uncomplimentary; he's convinced I'm going to end up breaking Bella's heart with my man-whore ways. Stupid fool. "Has he told your family?"

Bella rolls her eyes and huffs out a breath. "No. I told him that if he did, I'd move out."

"You play dirty, Bella."

"I know. Now, shut up and open your presents."

A box wrapped in silver paper lands in my lap, and Bella continues to bounce where she sits. Shaking my head, I tear the paper off, causing Bella to clap her hands together delightedly. It's a shoebox – a familiar looking one at that. A smile spreads across my face as I lift the lid to reveal a pair of red chucks.

"These are awesome! Thank you so much!"

"I'm glad you like them. You can stop coveting mine, now."

Another box, similarly sized, lands in my lap. I quirk an eyebrow at Bella, intrigued as she bites her lip and colors slightly. I tear the paper away to reveal another shoebox, though the branding on this one is unfamiliar to me. _Sperry Top-Siders_. When I lift the lid, I understand immediately.

"Sailing shoes?" I look to Bella, who nods in confirmation. In the box is a pair of tan leather shoes, the kind worn by yachtsman – or pretentious douche-bags who want to look like they own a yacht.

"Now – you can wear these when I take you sailing, but if I catch you wearing them anywhere else, we're no longer friends."

I laugh at Bella's warning – clearly we're on the same wavelength. Pushing the shoes, boxes and wrapping paper onto the floor, I lunge for Bella, dragging her into my lap as she squeals and giggles.

"Thank you, Bella. Really." Hugging her close, I press a kiss to her cheek.

"You're welcome." Bella smiles, clearly pleased with herself. It tugs at my heart a little, seeing her desire to make me happy. Silly girl, doesn't she know she doesn't even need to try?

"So, when do I get to wear them, sweetheart?" I ask, poking her in the ribs. "You gonna take me sailing, soon?"

Bella ducks her head, playing with my fingers as she speaks. "Well, you've got lunch with your folks, and Emmett's party is tonight, right? Do you think you'll be feeling up to going out tomorrow?"

"Bella, you know I don't drink much. Will _you_ be up to it tomorrow?"

"Uh, I'm not going out tonight, so I'll be fine."

I cock my head at Bella, confused. "You're not coming with me to Emmett's?"

Bella shakes her head, still refusing to meet my eyes. "I can't. I can't bear to see Leah again."

My fingers find their way under her chin, and I tilt her head, encouraging her to look up at me. Her dark eyes are clouded with remembered sadness.

"Will you tell me why, sweet girl?"

"I will. But not now, okay? Not today. Today is your birthday, and we need to celebrate."

I nod my head in understanding, though I wonder if this is Bella's way of politely telling me to mind my own business.

"I will tell you, Edward," she whispers, as though she knows what I'm thinking. "I trust you, I want you to know. Just, not now, okay?"

"Okay, sweetheart. Whenever you're ready."

* * *

><p>Lunch with Mom and Dad is a quiet affair. My birthday is always a bittersweet time for them. I know they love me, and I've never been made to feel anything other than utterly cherished, but every birthday brings with it the reminder that Mom actually gave birth to two children on this day.<p>

"So, Edward, how is Isabella doing?" Mum asks me over cake.

I can't help the smile that pulls at the corner of my mouth.

"She's okay, Ma. Actually, she's taking me sailing tomorrow." I grin as I fill Mom and Dad in on Bella's gifts to me, and our plans to spend tomorrow afternoon cruising around Lake Michigan.

"I'd love to meet her sometime, son." My mom is about as subtle as an axe wound.

"Well, I, uh, I tried to convince her to come with me today but she wouldn't hear of it."

"Edward," Mom chides me gently. "Of course she wouldn't, if she's as reserved as you've told me. She hasn't met us yet, and she'd feel like she was intruding."

That's precisely what Bella said. My hand finds the back of my neck, and I tug at my hair, embarrassed by my own obtuseness.

"I know, I – uh, well, I just wanted you guys to meet her. Maybe some other time."

"Perhaps on neutral ground," Dad suggests with a smirk. "She's more likely to feel comfortable if we just went to a coffee shop, rather than you bringing her here."

Mom nods her agreement, beaming at Dad.

"Alright, well, I'll talk to her and let you know."

* * *

><p>I manage to endure about an hour of Emmett's party before I'm ready to tear my hair out. I have a beer with Jasper, who regales me with another tale of a date from hell – this time with a girl named Maria, who ended up leaving the bar with another man.<p>

"Oh well, seriously man – I wish the fucker good luck. She was a real piece of work. She was one of those women, you know the type, who feels the need to constantly point out faults in every other woman who enters the room. It was hell, man. I was like 'I'm on a date with _you_ – I don't give a fuck about how big that girl's ass is, or why that girl shouldn't wear that fucking skirt.' Seriously, it was hell."

"Sounds fucking awful, Jazz."

"Yeah," he sighs. "But I'd like to know, dude, why I had to find out from Mike Newton that you and Bella are dating?"

"We're not, really," I mutter, after checking that there is no one within earshot. I explain to Jazz the arrangement Bella and I have made, and watch as a peculiar expression creeps over is face.

"What, Jazz? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Dude, it's your call … just, just be real careful, okay?"

I sigh in frustration, raking my hands though my hair.

"Look, do you really think I'd do anything to hurt Bella, man? I mean, come the fuck on. I –"

"That's not what I meant, Edward." Jazz cuts off my tirade before I can gather any steam. "I'm talking about you. That girl is under your skin. It's not _her_ heart I'm worried about."

I don't get the chance to ask him to explain what he means, because Leah chooses this moment to pounce on me.

She interrogates me about Bella for a solid twenty minutes – wanting to know what she's studying, whether she's made many friends in Chicago, what her plans for the future are, how she fills her spare time, and whether she keeps in contact with anyone back in San Francisco. It's the most I've ever spoken to the woman – she's always treated me with a sort of cool disdain, and I've never really cared enough to make an effort to alter the apparently negative impression she's had of me.

However, when I dutifully mention, in keeping with our charade, that Bella and I are dating, Leah's reaction is surprising, to say the least. She seems – not so much happy for Bella and me – but rather … _relieved_. She quizzes me about how long we've been dating, and how serious I think our relationship is. Astutely, she asks whether Bella refused to come along because she was avoiding her. I dissemble, explaining that Bella just wasn't feeling up to coming out tonight. It's not a lie.

As curious as I am to the history between the two of them, I refuse to question Leah about it, and I change the subject when it seems she wants to share some details with me. I'm adamant in my decision that I will only learn about Bella from Bella, whenever she is ready to let me in.

When Emmett comes to reclaim his girlfriend, and I see Mike shooting daggers at me again, I decide it's time to make my escape. I want to get home to Bella. I know she doesn't mind being at home alone, but for some reason, I find _I_ mind.

* * *

><p>Will you review for me, sweet readers? I love hearing your thoughts!<p> 


	8. Breathe Me: June 2009 cont

**Chapter 7: Breathe Me**

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><p><strong>Warning and Spoiler: This chapter deals with themes that may distress some readers. There will be some discussion of depression and suicide, but no detailed descriptions, I promise. Please, feel free to PM me if you need to know more.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you so much to all of you who are reading, reviewing, tweeting and pimping me out! I appreciate it immensely.<strong>

**Tam, you push me to write better, catch my excessive adverbs, calm my nerves, and gift me with many smiley moments. Thank you. I love you, bb. *cuddles***

* * *

><p><em><strong>Breathe Me<strong>_**, Sia.**

_**Help, I have done it again  
><strong>__**I have been here many times before  
><strong>__**Hurt myself again today  
><strong>__**And, the worst part is there's no-one else to blame**_

_**Be my friend  
><strong>__**Hold me, wrap me up  
><strong>__**Unfold me  
><strong>__**I am small  
><strong>__**I'm needy  
><strong>__**Warm me up  
><strong>__**And breathe me**_

_**Ouch, I have lost myself again  
><strong>__**Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,  
><strong>__**Yeah I think that I might break  
><strong>__**I've lost myself again and I feel unsafe**_

* * *

><p><strong>June 2009 cont.<strong>

"Bella?"

I have to smile as I kick off my new red chucks inside the front door.

"In here."

I follow her voice to the kitchen, finding her seated at the table, poring over a cookbook.

"Have you not eaten?" I ask, frowning.

"No, I have. But, you're home earlier than I expected. I was going to make dessert before you got in."

"Oh. You, uh, you want a hand?"

Bella smiles up at me, "Yeah! Let's cook. What are you in the mood for?"

I consider it briefly before I shrug. "Anything, really. What were you thinking?"

Bella slides the cookbook in front of me, and I nod in agreement. Chocolate chip pancakes with salted caramel sauce. Fuck, yes!

"You make the pancake batter, and I'll make the sauce?" she suggests.

"No problem."

We work in easy harmony, passing ingredients and checking on each other's progress. I tell Bella briefly about my evening – leaving out the details of my conversation with Jasper, which I need to think about some more when I'm alone. She stiffens slightly, but says nothing, when I mention Leah's eagerness to know about what she's been up to. I decide not to push the subject, and Bella soon relaxes as she watches her sugar turn to caramel.

Her delightful laughter returns as she watches me attempt to cook the pancakes. Mixing the batter is well within my skill-set, cooking the damn things – not so much. After I drip the batter all over the counter-top for the third time, Bella bumps me out of the way with her hip, shaking her head and taking over cooking duties. Thanks to her competence, it's not time at all before we're seated at the table with two enormous stacks of pancakes absolutely drowning in sauce. They're fucking delicious and I eat way more than I should, but they're just too damn tasty to go to waste.

Bella groans as she pushes her plate away, unable to finish the last third of the stack on her plate. I eye her leftovers covetously, before deciding I would likely explode were I to try and finish them off.

"You wanna watch a movie?" I suggest as we finish stacking the dishwasher, unwilling to bring the night to a close just yet.

"No, not tonight," she says softly. "I think you probably have some questions you want to ask me – am I right?"

I nod, and Bella offers me a small smile. "Let's get this out of the way, then, why don't we?"

I catch her hand as she starts toward the living room, and my hand moves to her chin, tipping it up to encourage her to meet my eyes. "Bella, we don't have to do this. You know that, right? You don't owe it to me, and I don't want to pressure you to tell me anything you're not ready to share."

"I know," she whispers, chewing her lip for a moment, as her eyes search mine. She seems to find whatever she is looking for, because she nods her head once, and her hand moves up to stroke my cheek. "I want you to know me, Edward. I want you to understand."

She leads me out to the couch, curling into the corner of the sofa and pulling her knees up to her chin. I take a seat beside her, anxiety curling in my gut. Sensing that whatever she is going to tell me will not be easy for her to say, I take her hand, linking our fingers together.

"So, uh, when you talked to Leah, did she tell you much about why I left San Francisco?"

"No," I assure her. "I got the feeling she wanted me to ask, but I didn't."

Bella snorts derisively. "I'm not surprised. She and I have very different perspectives on it, and she probably wanted to make sure you knew how wrong I am."

I'm taken aback by the bitterness in Bella's tone. Untangling our fingers, I flip her little hand palm-up, idly tracing patterns across it, as I contemplate my earlier conversation with Leah.

"Why didn't you ask her about it?" Bella asks quietly, drawing me out of my reflections. She watches my finger dance across her palm as I search for the words I need.

"Because I want to learn about you from _you_, sweetheart. Not from Leah, not from Garrett."

Bella's eyes snap to mine, wide with surprise. Her lips quirk slightly, and her expression shifts as she regards me with a tenderness I've not seen before. "Thank you. Really."

I don't know what to say in response to her heartfelt words, so I simply lean forward to press a soft kiss to her forehead. Bella smiles shyly, ducking her head again.

"Right," she sighs. "Leah … Uh, I've told you about my boyfriend, Jacob, before?"

I murmur an affirmative, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"And, I told you that Jake was sick for a while before he died, but that he hid it from me?" Bella takes a deep breath, and I see the silent sob she tries to suppress rack her body. "Leah's brother, Seth, was one of Jacob's best friends. So, Jake and Leah had always been … close, but, um, I didn't find out until after he died … uh, just _how close_ they were."

Bella sniffles against my chest, and my arms tighten instinctively. I keep my mind carefully blank. "He was," I swallow, "cheating on you?"

"Yeah."

"I'm so sorry," I murmur.

Bella's voice drops to a shaky whisper as my heart clenches. "But what's even worse … I, uh, I found out, several months after he … died, that she knew about his illness, and she'd … she'd convinced him not to t-tell me, Edward. She t-told him … that I wouldn't … u-understand."

Hearing Bella's cries, her desperation, my heart tears in two. Compassion and rage war within me as I pull her shaking body into my lap, rocking her in my arms. I feel powerless to bring her any true comfort. What words could I possibly offer her that would alleviate her pain, even momentarily? My mind flits back to the picture of Jacob in Bella's bedroom, and I wrestle with the wisdom of asking her the question that torments me. Perhaps it's best to ask her now, rather than bringing up the subject again at another time.

"Bella? Sweetheart, is it alright … if I ask you how Jacob, uh, died?"

She responds by fisting her hands in my tee-shirt and sobbing harder. _Fuck, I've screwed up_. I should have kept my mouth shut – let her tell me on her own terms, when she was ready. Why the _fuck_ did I have to push?

"He killed himself." Bella's whisper leaves me cold. Though I am not overly surprised – I _almost_ suspected as much – hearing her say the words, her voice revealing the depths of her torment, sucks the air out of my lungs. "He had been suicidal for months, apparently … I, uh, I never knew."

"Oh, Bella, I'm so sorry, love." I hold her tight, stroking her hair as she continues to weep, feeling utterly helpless as she clings to me. Slowly, she regains her composure, pulling in shaky breaths.

"He overdosed on sleeping pills, in the September of 2005," Bella tells me quietly. "He, uh, he left me his journal. His dad found it a few days later. So, I, uh, I found out about him and Leah from that. Everyone … I mean, Leah, especially … They all told me it was just physical – just sex – that he really did love _me_, but uh, he was, I think they called it 'self-medicating' … with sex … and I guess I didn't, uh, give him enough of what he thought he needed." She pauses, sniffling, but her voice remains steady when she continues. "I could forgive Leah for screwing him behind my back … but I just, I can't forgive her for encouraging him to hide what he was going through from me."

"She didn't encourage him to get help?" I ask, appalled.

"No, no. She did. He, uh, he actually started on medication a week before he took his life. Uh, apparently, the medication probably contributed to the suicidal feelings."

"That can happen," I murmur, still playing with her hair absently. "It can take a while to sort out which medication will work best for a person, and even then, in some cases, it can sometimes make things feel worse before they start to get better."

"Right, that's what we were told." Bella sighs. "So, he actually had sought help, and I'm grateful to Leah for that, truly. But I had no clue, Edward. I had no fucking clue about the depths of despair he was living with, the pain he was enduring, the utter hopelessness he was drowning in. He … he felt he couldn't bear it any longer, and so, he opted out. He gave up – he stopped fighting it. And I had _no fucking idea_ of what he was going through. It wasn't until after we buried him, when I sat down with his journal …" She breaks off again, unable to speak through her tears.

"I felt responsible for a long time –"

"Bella –"

"Let me finish, please," she begs. "I know, okay, _I know_. But the 'what ifs' haunted me for a very long time. What if I'd paid a bit more attention? What if I'd asked him more questions? What if I hadn't been so focused on myself? I understand now that he made the choice to hide it. Leah did the right thing, encouraging him to seek professional help, and I guess, I mean … I will forgive her eventually …"

Bella's fingers toy with a button on my shirt before she sighs and continues. "She doesn't understand why I'm hurt. She could understand me being mad at her for fucking Jacob behind my back. And I was. Finding that out _after_ he'd passed? It killed me. But I was more hurt wondering why she thought I couldn't handle knowing about Jacob's condition. She gave me a lot of bullshit reasons about me being too 'nice' and sheltered, and how I wouldn't have been able to understand what it's like to feel that way, to feel as though having to live each day was an impossible burden … I guess she's probably relieved to hear I'm 'dating' you, Edward, because she would think it shows that I'm moving on."

I consider that as Bella sniffles quietly against my chest. She's right, I suspect. From what she's told me, Leah's relief would likely stem from her wanting to assuage her own guilt – knowing that Bella has begun to move on, to deal with Jacob's death to the point that she's able to open her heart to another man … yes, it makes a lot of sense. If Bella can let go of Jacob, maybe she can let go of her anger toward Leah.

Bella squirms on my lap, as if trying to bury herself deeper into my embrace.

"Two weeks after he died, I found out I was pregnant." Her voice drops to a hoarse whisper, and I feel the cracks in my heart deepen as the story of her suffering compounds. Understanding crashes down on me like a punch to the gut.

"A week later, I miscarried. Our … the baby was about fourteen weeks old, and the miscarriage was probably stress-induced."

"Bella –" What can I say? What comfort can I possibly offer her? _Fuck._ How can she carry this? How can she bear the weight of so much loss, so much suffering?

"I'd just gotten used to the idea," she sobs. "I was so young. I'd just turned nineteen, but I thought … it was Jacob's baby, you know? Part of him. New life. So, that was actually almost a comfort. But then, when I lost the b-baby … It was like losing Jake all over again. I felt … I felt like such a failure, Edward. Jacob didn't trust me enough to share his illness, my body couldn't provide for our baby … So, I, uh, I ran –"

Bella shakes her head, unable to continue as she loses her fight against the sobs that overtake her. I hold her as tightly as I dare, one of my hands moving to rub her back gently as her body continues to heave and shake. The sounds ripping from her chest are utterly soul-destroying.

"Sh-shh," I say, trying to soothe the broken, devastated girl in my arms. "Shh, Bella."

Finally, with all the pieces in place, I can understand why Bella is so closed-off; why she disappeared to Europe, alone, for almost two years; why she couldn't bear to stay in San Francisco. The fact that she continues to simply function each day is testament to her incredible strength. That she is capable of smiling and laughing, of caring for people – that is nothing short of extraordinary.

Eventually, Bella's cries peter out, and I'm beginning to wonder if she has fallen asleep when her hoarse voice surprises me. "Thank you, Edward."

"Always," I promise her. "I'm here for you, sweetheart."

Bella pulls back, finally meeting my eyes. Her gold-brown eyes are shining with tears, and rimmed in angry red. Her dark hair is a tangled mess, and her face is puffy and salt-stained. Still, I think, she is beautiful.

"Thank you," she rasps again. "Thank you for caring, without pitying me."

I smile and press another kiss to her forehead. I hear Bella's breath catch as my lips meet her skin and I pull back, alarmed. She watches me cautiously, a question I don't know how to answer in her eyes. Her eyes close with an abrupt shake of her head, a pained expression straining her face.

"I need to go to bed," she mutters.

"Will you be able to sleep?" Surely dredging through all these painful memories will make it difficult for her, and I'm worried she will be plagued by nightmares.

Bella tugs on the ends of her hair, her eyes wary. "Will you hold me for a while?" She squeezes her eyes shut, as though she fears my answer. As if I would refuse her anything.

"Of course I will," I assure her, brushing her hair off her face. "Just let me go get changed, alright?"

Bella nods, staggering to her feet. I follow suit, catching her hand and pulling her into a fierce hug before she can disappear on me. I try to infuse everything I wish I had the words to say into my embrace: that I care, that I'll always listen, that I will be … well, I'll be anything she wants me to be.

When I release her, she offers me a weak smile before she turns and walks slowly toward her bedroom. I make quick work of changing into some sweat pants and a clean tee-shirt and scrubbing my teeth, before making my way to Bella's room.

I knock softly on the half-closed door, and enter at Bella's murmured invitation. Her room is dim, bathed only in the low light thrown by the lamp beside her bed. She is sitting on her bed, hugging her legs, her eyes downcast. I take a seat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"Are you ready to sleep?"

Bella hesitates, her expression torn. I tilt my head to look at her, concerned.

"Hey," I whisper. "What's going on?"

Bella doesn't answer me. She shakes her head, her body seeming to tense as she wrestles with some internal conflict. I see the resolve crystallize in her expression, yet I'm still taken completely by surprise when she crawls onto my lap and crashes her mouth against my own. There's a fierceness and desperation in her kiss that disarms me and overwhelms me – my defenses overthrown, my lips respond immediately, and my arms wrap around her, holding her close.

Her lips move forcefully against my own, and I surrender to her, as she demands more and more. My fingers tangle into her hair, securing our closeness, as I greedily pull her bottom lip between my own, sucking and nipping at it. I vaguely register the sting as Bella fists the hair at the back of my head tightly, but most of my attention is fixed on her mouth as she deepens our kiss. Lips and tongues and teeth collide with an almost violent intensity as we seek to consume each other.

Without breaking our kiss, I lift Bella from my lap and lay her down on her bed, before settling myself between her thighs. I'm painfully aroused, and when her hips buck against me, I imitate her movement, desperate for friction to ease the steadily throbbing ache in my groin.

It is her frenzied moan that shocks me back to reality and I freeze, panicked, before I try to pull away in alarm. My arms straighten as I push my chest up off Bella's, trying to force some distance between us.

"Bella –" I shake my head, trying to clear away the fog of lust that overwhelms me.

Bella cries out in protest, still rocking her hips against my pelvis. "Please, Edward. Make me feel. Please."

The distress and sheer need in her voice causes my shaky resolve to crumble, and I surrender with a groan, reuniting my lips to hers. This is not about passion or pleasure or enjoying each other – this is pure catharsis, desperate release.

My brief hesitation seems only to have magnified her need, and as my mouth reclaims hers, her fingers claw at my back as she continues to writhe beneath me. Balancing my weight on the elbow that rests beside her head, I lift my pelvis, groaning in pain at the loss of her warmth. My other hand fumbles with the waistband of her yoga pants for a minute before Bella becomes coherent enough to assist me, quickly pushing her both pants and panties down her thighs.

As soon as my fingers begin to explore her slick flesh, her back arches and her hands tug frantically at my hair. Pulling my mouth away from hers, I listen carefully to her moan and pants and whimpers as my fingers seek out all the hidden places that bring her closer to release.

Pushing back onto my knees, I force Bella to release her hold on me. Her hands grasp at the sheets, clenching and twisting them, as I move down her body, and replace my fingers with my tongue. Her fingers find my hair again, holding me close as I lick and nip and suck and drive her to the brink of ecstasy. When my fingers slide inside her, she screams in pained rapture, convulsing and shaking as her climax slams through her body.

My touch softens as she falls, the tremors that wrack her body subsiding. When I hear her deep exhalation, followed by a shaky sob, I crawl back up her body, my heart in my throat. Her sweet face is soaked with sweat and tears, her satiation mixed with utter exhaustion.

I stroke the damp, dark curls away from her face, wiping away the tears that stain her pale cheeks. Her dark eyes are heavy as they watch me, full of an emotion I can't identify. I sit back on my knees, and slip her panties back up over her hips, before easing her sweatpants up her legs.

I hesitate, feeling suddenly nervous. "Do you, uh, do you still want me –"

"Yes," she whispers.

I climb back into bed beside her, dragging the comforter with me. Bella cuddles into my side, her sleepy eyes regarding me. As she moves to throw her leg across my body, she grazes my still painful arousal, causing me to hiss in surprise.

"I'm sorry, I should –"

I cut her off. "Don't worry about it, please."

Bella frowns, blinking slowly.

"Sleep, Bella – it's alright."

She sighs in defeat, her eyes fluttering closed. Within moments, her breathing deepens as she drifts off into sleep. I lie still for a few minutes, watching the shadows cast across her cheek by her long, dark lashes, as I stroke her disheveled hair away from her face.

When I stretch my arm out to switch off the lamp, the photo of Bella and Jacob catches my eye. My mind reels, as the details of our earlier conversation come flooding back. I have had no time to process Bella's revelations this evening, and the chaos that rages inside my head is overwhelming. I click the switch on the lamp, plunging the room into blackness.

I don't expect to fall asleep, with the mental turmoil I'm experiencing combined with my body's unresolved arousal, so I content myself with stroking Bella's soft hair. And yet, there is something so comforting in her warmth beside me, something so soothing in the sweet scent of her skin, that I'm quickly lulled into oblivion.

* * *

><p>It's still pitch black when I'm startled awake. I freeze for a moment, disoriented, until I hear the soft sobbing of the broken-hearted girl who sleeps beside me. I gather her into my arms, stroking her hair and making soothing noises until she finally quiets, eased into a deeper slumber.<p>

* * *

><p>When I next awaken, the summer sunshine is streaming through the room, catching on the motes of dust that swirl through the air. The space Bella occupied is empty, and my hand immediately searches the place where she should lie. I'm relieved to find it's still warm.<p>

I lie still, listening for the sounds of her moving around the house. I'm just beginning to worry when I hear her muttering to herself, her voice becoming clearer as she approaches.

"Oh, you're awake," she says quietly, shifting her weight – she seems nervous. She's holding two mugs of coffee, and I scramble to sit against the headboard of her bed. I pat the space behind me, and Bella gives me a shy smile as she hands me a mug and climbs in beside me. I wrap my free arm around her shoulders, embracing her as I take a sip of the hot liquid.

"Thanks." My voice is still thick with sleep, and I take another sip of coffee to try and clear my throat. "How are you feeling this morning?"

Bella is silent for a moment, and she stares into her coffee cup with a slight frown on her face. Concerned, I pull my arm from where it lies across her shoulders to touch her chin, silently pleading with her to look at me. I'm terrified that she regrets last night – that in the clear light of morning she will regret allowing me to see into the deepest corners of her sorrow.

"I actually feel okay," she says finally, and I sense she, too, is surprised by her admission. "I expected to feel awful, but I feel … lighter, I guess."

Relief courses through me at her words, and I press a kiss to her cheek.

"What about you?" she asks, her gaze flickers to meet mine before dropping to her lap. "Are you okay?"

I cock my head, confused. "Uh, I'm okay … Uh, why do you ask?"

"Well, I don't imagine it's every night that you have a neurotic girl breaking down in your arms. I know some of the shit I told you is a heavy burden to carry."

"Bella," I sigh. I wonder how I can make her understand, when I'm not even sure _I_ have a grasp on what is happening between us. "You're one of my closest friends, I … I care for you deeply. Knowing _you_ means knowing the things that have happened in your life to make you who you are today – and that's not a burden. It's a privilege."

Bella's face twists with the most peculiar expression, and I wonder briefly if I've said too much, if I'll scare her off with my intensity.

"You never cease to amaze me, Edward. I, uh, I want to know you, too," she says. "I want to know the things that have happened in your life to make _you_ who you are today."

My breath stolen away by her words, I'm unable to speak. I manage a shaky nod, and Bella presses her lips to my cheek. She sighs, before her features transform, and she flashes me a surprisingly brilliant smile.

"So, are you still up to meeting my _other_ lover today?"

* * *

><p><strong>I'd love to hear your thoughts.<strong>

**Shell x**


	9. Between the Bars: Sept  Oct 2009

**Chapter 8: Between the Bars**

* * *

><p><strong>I disclaim.<strong>

**Tam is one of my favourite people in the world. She helps me fight the curse of the adverbs, puts up with me freaking out over every chapter, and encourages me in both my writing, and life in general. It's also her birthday - so _Happy Birthday, love_. No one deserves a really special day more than you.**

**Also, Chicago does have a Jazz Festival roughly around this time of year – I just pushed it back two weeks. I hope they don't mind ;)**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Between the Bars<strong>_**, Elliot Smith***

_**Drink up with me now  
><strong>__**And forget all about the pressure of days  
><strong>__**Do what I say and I'll make you okay and drive them away  
><strong>__**The images stuck in your head …**_

…

_**Drink up baby, look at the stars  
><strong>__**I'll kiss you again between the bars  
><strong>__**Where I'm seeing you there with your hands in the air  
><strong>__**Waiting to finally be caught**_

_**Drink up one more time and I'll make you mine  
><strong>__**Keep you apart, deep in my heart  
><strong>__**Separate from the rest, where I like you the best  
><strong>__**And keep the things you forgot**_

*The Civil Wars and Bobby Long do phenomenal covers, too.

* * *

><p><strong>Sept – Oct 2009.<strong>

"Edward?"

"Hnrrmmmffff."

"I made you coffee."

"Umff."

Bella's giggle rings through my bedroom, and I groan and roll over, pulling my pillow over my head to muffle her unwelcome noisiness. I do love to hear her laugh, just not at whatever fucking hour of the morning it is.

"Come on, handsome, it's nearly eleven."

So maybe it's a little later than I thought – still too fucking early for a Saturday, though. Plus, the weather's getting colder and I'm really quite snug beneath my covers. From under my pillow, I hear the dull sound of coffee mugs being placed on my nightstand and feel my mattress dip under Bella's weight. The rich aroma of coffee seeps its way into my hiding place, rousing me a little more.

I grin against the sheet as the bed bounces with Bella's movements. In a few seconds she's going to try to pull my pillow off my head. I fist it tighter, chuckling when I feel her futile tugging begin. I let go of it abruptly, twisting and sitting up, grabbing hold of her while she's distracted by her pillow-victory, and dragging her back down with me. While she squeals in surprise, I place my head on her chest, snuggling into her warmth.

"Shush," I tell her. "You're too noisy to be a good pillow."

Bella giggles, and her fingers move into my hair, raking through it, scratching at my scalp. I hum in contentment, basking in her gentle touch, her sweet scent and her soft skin.

"Edward?"

"Mmmm."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Are you doing okay, baby?"

"Huh?"

"It's just –" Bella's fingers pause in their stroking. "You've been sleeping a lot more, and you seem really run down since you started work. I'm just, uh, you know, a little worried for you."

I move my head so that I can look up at Bella. My pillow is shoved under her neck so she can look down at me, and she gifts me with a shy smile when our eyes meet. She's dressed to go sailing, I realize. I'm a little disappointed to see her dressed in a polo shirt and the little shorts that show off her strong, tanned legs. It means she's probably going to leave soon, off to spend the day with her other lover, the wind and the waves.

"Are you quite comfortable?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow at me.

I blink at her, confused by her question and her change in tone. I'm not uncomfortable, with my chin resting between Bella's soft breasts – Oh. _Oh._ I'm basically using her tits as a pillow.

"Uh, I'm, shit, I'm sorry, Bel –"

Her trilling laugh cuts off my apologies.

"It's fine, Edward."

"Good," I mumble, turning my head to snuggle back into her chest. My proximity to her breasts – and my awareness of them – has my body responding, and I shift my hips against the mattress in discomfort.

Since my birthday, the line between our friendship and our fake-relationship has become a little blurry. There's this strange magnetism that exists between us that I can't really explain. We touch a lot more – sharing frequent hugs and caresses. Twice, while watching movies with Bella curled on my lap, we've gotten completely carried away – making out on the couch like horny teenagers until Garrett unexpectedly arriving home interrupted us. She's become one of my best friends, but it's getting very hard to convince myself that I'm not feeling something deeper – something beyond friendship, something beyond simply feeling attracted to her.

I bite back a groan as Bella's fingers tug a little at my hair, trying to focus instead on answering her question.

"I'm okay," I tell her right boob. I sigh before I elaborate. "I, uh, I don't cope so well with change. It takes a lot out of me, having to establish new routines, meet new people, all that shit."

Bella sighs, the movement of her chest under my head causing me to smile a little, and hug her a little tighter. I'm touched by her concern, by her noticing how much I've struggled in the last month – since I started on as a Junior Financial Analyst at one of the bigger firms in the city. The work itself isn't difficult for me – it's having to establish relationships with my colleagues, knowing how to present myself, that's caused me a lot of stress.

"Will you be okay?" she asks, uncertainty coloring her tone. "Is there anything I can do to help you out?"

My head jerks up, my eyes locking with Bella's. Her slight frown, the crease between her eyes – it reminds me of her expression as she scanned the horizon, keeping her eye on the weather, the first time she took me sailing. It was the day after my birthday, and we'd received word there could be a late afternoon storm, so Bella had been concerned we would get caught in it. She explained to me later, when we were home, warm and dry, that it was me she was apprehensive for – she'd sailed through her share of squalls and storms in San Francisco, but she didn't want my first experience on the water to be one of fear and panic. Once again, I find myself touched by her unexpected worry for me.

"Bella –" My voice comes out hoarse, shaky. I clear my throat and try again. "Sweetheart, you _have_ helped me out. How many nights this month have you cooked dinner for us? How many mornings have you gotten up earlier than you needed to, just to cook breakfast and make coffee for me? Fuck, you even ironed all my shirts for me last weekend –"

Bella giggles. "You know that's just because I like getting to perve on you in a suit."

I chuckle, shaking my head at the silly girl in my bed. Last Wednesday I finished late and had no time to change into more casual clothes before heading to the brewery. When I tried to apologize, Bella simply broke into red-cheeked giggles, before she drunkenly admitted to finding it "incredibly sexy". It took an enormous amount of willpower to turn down her invitation to take our "practicing" a step further that night.

"You're ridiculous. You know that, don't you?"

Bella shrugs and smiles, her hand moving from my hair to her own, tucking her sun-streaked tresses behind her ears. As much as I miss her, with her spending most of her Saturdays sailing, I can't deny how good it's been for her. She seems lighter, stronger, happier. I got a glimpse of it when she took me with her: seeing her controlling the yacht, monitoring the weather and our course, trimming the sails, explaining to me what she was doing at each point – it was a revelation.

I grab her hand and put it back on my head, patting it and moving my head from side to side. Bella clicks her tongue at me, but acquiesces to my demands, her fingers resuming their gentle raking across my scalp.

"Coffee's going to go cold," she says after a few more minutes, her fingers moving to tug at my ears.

"Don't care," I mumble, snuggling into her chest with an exaggerated sigh of contentment.

Bella's tugs become more insistent, and I start to whine. "Ouch. You're hurting me, Bella."

"Well, get your face out of my boobs and sit up, then. I made coffee for you. Come on, get up and drink it."

Reluctantly, I drag myself away from her warmth and sit up against my headboard, offering her an exaggerated pout. Bella rolls her eyes at me, making to get up out of my bed. I pull her back, seating her across my lap. I reach around her to grab the mugs of coffee, handing her one and bringing the other to my lips.

"I have to go soon," Bella tells me, not meeting my eyes as she takes another sip of her coffee.

I wrap my free arm around her waist, shaking my head. "No. Stay with me."

"Edward –"

"Belllllaaaaa."

Bella places her coffee back on the nightstand, shifting in my lap to look into my face. Pushing my hair off my face, she studies me for a moment, her golden brown eyes unreadable.

"You still look so tired," she says. "Why don't you watch a movie or something, just take it easy today, and then have a nap later this afternoon? I'll probably be home before you wake up."

I nod my agreement, trying to rein in my disappointment. As much as I really want to spend time with Bella today, I'm not going to pressure her to change her plans for me. I take another sip of coffee, sighing my pleasure at the fragrant aromas swirling around me. Closing my eyes, I tip my head back against the wall. I really am fucking exhausted today, despite sleeping for close to twelve hours.

I feel Bella wriggling around in my lap and I groan in protest, opening my eyes to see why she's squirming all over the place.

"What are you doing?"

"Texting Rose," she says, her eyes on the screen of her cell phone. I presume the wiggling was her extracting the damn thing from her pocket.

"Why?"

"I'm telling her I won't be joining them today." Rose is the skipper of the yacht she usually crews on each week. I met her once when I picked Bella up from the yacht club – she's an easy-going young woman, and I liked her immediately, mostly because she's so good to Bella.

"No, Bella. Don't cancel on my account, please. I'm just being a baby."

"It's fine. Really. She's cool. Look –" Bella waves her cell phone under my nose.

**From Rosalie Hale:  
><strong>**Not a problem, sailor. See you in two weeks.**

"Bella –"

Bella throws her phone on to my nightstand, before taking my nearly empty coffee cup from my hand. Before I register what's happening, her mouth is against mine, her lips warm and coffee-flavored. Her little fingers wander across my bare chest, before they slide around my neck and into my hair. My hands move to her hips, gripping her tightly as she deepens the kiss, her hot tongue seeking out my own.

An embarrassingly deep groan escapes from my throat when Bella pulls away from me, her chest heaving.

"Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not drunk."

I chuckle darkly. "And you're not under the influence of anything else?"

Bella shakes her head, her breath still coming in shallow pants. "Completely sober."

"And, you're sure you want this?" She has to be certain. I have to hear her say it.

"Yes. _Fuck_. I want this."

With a moan, I capture Bella's mouth again, sucking hard on her bottom lip, before our tongues resume their frantic exploration. With her hands on my shoulders, and without breaking our kiss, Bella shifts herself so she straddles my lap. My hands find the soft skin of her waist, my fingers dipping under her shirt and tracing from her spine to her sides and back again. I tug at the hem of her top, indicating what I want, but leaving the decision to Bella.

She pulls back from me, her dark eyes clouded with lust and want. Holding my gaze, she begins to pull her shirt up, exposing the creamy silk of her torso. My fingers flex, itching to touch, to caress. When our eye contact is broken as she sheds her shirt, my eyes drop to her chest. I notice a dark smudge, black ink that mars the white skin of her side, but I'm quickly distracted by her breasts, hiding behind her skimpy bikini top. Groaning, I push my face into her cleavage, running my tongue between her breasts, and delighting in the salty-sweet taste of her skin.

Bella pulls my face back to hers with a few impatient tugs at my hair. Her lips move to my jaw, kissing and nipping from my chin to my ear and back, causing me to shudder. My hands explore the soft skin of her back, toying with the ties of her swim suit. Bella pauses, pulling back to look me in the eye. Smirking, she reaches behind herself, and I watch, captivated, as her bikini top slides to the floor.

My hands move of their own accord to cup her breasts, before my fingertips begin sweeping across them with the lightest of touches. I watch, fascinated, as her dark pink nipples harden and pucker. Plucking them between my fingers, it is my turn to smirk as Bella moans and throws her head back. I rub the pads of my thumbs across them, before I begin to pinch and twist, monitoring Bella's reactions as I experiment with speed and pressure. When her moans become mewls I replace my left hand with my mouth, flicking my tongue, sucking, and nibbling until Bella pushes me away frantically.

"Stop, stop, please. _Fuck_, you're, oh fuck, driving me crazy."

The remainder of our clothing is hastily shed between frenzied kisses and clumsy movements as we maneuver ourselves around my bed. It's only when I find myself hovering over Bella, my weight supported on one arm as I frantically search the drawer of my nightstand for a condom, that some semblance of rationality returns to me. Retrieving the foil package, I hand it to Bella, searching her face for any hint of hesitation.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Her voice is half moan, half whisper.

My fingertips dance across her flesh, dipping between her legs, stroking and teasing until she is writhing and mewling. Her climax washes over her as I watch, stunned at the sight of her – her back arched, open-mouthed as she surrenders to ecstasy. I trail soft kisses across her breasts and stomach, then trace the line of her collarbone, her neck, her jaw with my lips, while I wait for her breathing to slow and her eyes to flutter open.

Her dark eyes watch me as she tears open the little package, and I groan as she covers me, stroking me firmly. I pause, opening my mouth to speak, but Bella places a finger to my lips.

"Don't ask me again."

I nod, and push my hips forward, slowly joining our bodies. Bella gasps and I groan, overwhelmed by sensation. We move clumsily, trying to match each other's rhythm. Bella giggles and I chuckle, before ducking down to kiss her deeply. It's a little awkward, and a little embarrassing, but it's us, together, and it's perfect.

Bella gently encourages me to speed my movements, her hand on my hip guiding me. I can tell she's nowhere near close when my own release overtakes me and I cry out her name as sensation and bliss swallow me.

"I'm sorry," I mutter against Bella's shoulder when the waves of pleasure finally ebb.

"Don't be silly."

"It's, uh, it's been a long time, I, uh, _fuck_."

"Hey, look at me." Bella's fingers find my ear, and she tugs at it persistently until I comply. "It's okay. Don't fucking apologize, alright?"

"Bella –"

"Are we going to keep score? Is that what you'd like to do?" Bella arches an eyebrow at me. "Because I'm pretty sure I owe _you_."

I roll away from her, cleaning myself up quickly. I consider her words, my mind reeling as the implications of what we've just done slowly seep into my brain.

"Are, uh, are we doing this?"

"I think we just did." Bella giggles, her eyes dancing, as I crawl back under the covers.

"I mean, uh, what, um, what are we, Bella? What are we doing here?"

Bella's expression sobers and she squirms around a little, pushing and tugging at me until we lie side by side, our faces mere inches apart. Her fingers move to push the hair out of my eyes, and a small smile curves her lips briefly.

"We are what we are." Bella hesitates, her eyes full of questions. "Edward, I'm closer to you than anyone else – you're my best friend. I trust you, and I like spending time with you. Does having sex have to change that?"

"So, you, uh, you want to be like … friends with benefits?"

Bella scrunches up her nose at me – it's fucking cute.

"I hate that expression. Do we have to call it something? Can't we just do what we want – what feels good? We're good friends, who care for each other, and occasionally that care extends to, uh, meeting more physical needs."

I roll onto my back, breaking our eye contact. I need a clear head. What Bella is suggesting sounds, well, it sounds fucking perfect. Bella's amazing, she's one of my closest friends, and she wants to periodically have sex with me. It seems … _ideal_: all of the benefits of a relationship, without any of the scariness, any of the risks. As I mentally turn the idea around in my head, trying to examine it from all angles, there is something tugging at the periphery of my consciousness.

I wonder briefly if this game we're playing is too dangerous. I think of the warning Jasper offered me at Emmett's party, his concern for _my_ heart. I dismiss the notion easily – I can't get hurt if I don't give my heart away, and Bella doesn't want my heart – or anyone else's. Neither of us _wants_ a relationship, neither of us _wants_ to put our hearts on the line – so maybe this really is the perfect solution. And what if … jealousy creeps in to my mind, it's whispered suggestions like poison … What if I deny her? Who's to say she won't go looking elsewhere? I'm sure there are many men who would jump at the chance to share this gorgeous woman's bed. At least I can trust myself to have her best interests at heart. I make myself that promise: if we're going to do this, then Bella comes first.

Bella leans over me, the little crease between her eyes returning as she studies my expression. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"I'm thinking this sounds too simple and perfect to work. I'm thinking I like this idea more than I should. Mostly, I'm thinking we need to make sure we're on the same page."

"Like, set some ground rules?"

"Yeah … so, do you, uh, do you have any conditions?"

Bella looks at me, her eyes thoughtful. "I guess, as soon as one of us wants out, then, that's it. Game over."

I offer my own suggestion more cautiously. "We, uh, we don't sleep with anyone else while this arrangement stands."

She is quick to nod, and while her lips quirk with a small smile, her dark eyes betray her. "If you meet someone you want to be with for real, then, just, uh, just tell me and we stay friends, but we no longer have sex."

"That goes both ways."

Bella shrugs, and I ache a little at the ease with which she dismisses my words. The hurt and betrayal she has suffered have destroyed any confidence she has in meeting someone she can trust with her heart.

"You can say 'no' at any point," I add, my cheeks heating. "You know … if you're, uh, like, not in the mood, or whatever."

"That goes both ways." She smirks, her finger tracing my cheekbone. Moving her lips to my ear, she lowers her voice. "Don't be shy, baby, it's just me."

* * *

><p>I'm startled out of a deep sleep by the vibrating of my cell phone against the nightstand. I fumble around for a minute, confused, before I remember I'm in Bella's bed, and the nightstand is farther away from the bed than I'm used to. Stretching, I pick up the fucking thing and hit the answer button.<p>

"Hello?" My voice is still thick with sleep.

"Edward? What the fuck, man? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." I'm fucking confused. "What's up, Jazz?"

"Are you serious, dude? You didn't show up last night – you didn't even send a text to say you were bailing! Now, it's three o'clock in the fucking afternoon and it sounds like you just woke up. Are you sick?"

"What? No." Shaking my head, I try to sort out what the hell he's talking about. "What was last night?"

"We went out for drinks for Jess' birthday."

"Oh. _Shit_."

"Oh shit is right. Where were you?"

"It's, uh, it's Bella's birthday today, so, we, uh, we went out last night," I mumble. I glance across at the girl in question. She's still very deeply asleep, her naked body swathed in the deep red of her comforter. Her dark hair spills across the pillow, tendrils creeping across her face. I smile softly, the way her dark tresses wrap around her face and neck puts me in mind of the way the wind caused it to dance, whipping it across her eyes as she stood at the helm of the yacht.

Jazz's sigh and low curse drags my attention back to the subject of our conversation. "Shit, Edward. You should really have called someone. That's not like you. You're not the guy who bails on his friends for a girl."

He's disappointed, and he's right, and it hurts.

"I know. Shit. I'm sorry, Jazz, really. We, uh, well, it was kind of spur of the moment. I remembered the Jazz Festival was on, so, uh, we went out for dinner, and then we went and listened to a few bands play." And then we came home and had sex. Twice. And again this morning. Twice. Hence the fact we were both still asleep well into the afternoon.

"Well, I hope she had fun." There's no sarcasm in his tone. My friend is quick to forgive. He also has a soft spot for Bella; the first time he met her he noted that the pain she carried almost had it's own presence, a spectre that followed her around. Subsequently, I know he can't begrudge me for trying to bring her some happiness on her birthday. And, while he knows about the arrangement Bella and I made last weekend, and doesn't necessarily approve of it, he does respect the fact that decisions we make are our own.

"She did." I can't help but smile as my mind is assaulted with images from last night: Bella giggling her way through dinner; Bella dancing, her arms in the air, her cheeks pink, her smile huge; Bella, her head thrown back, crying out in ecstasy.

"Alright man, I'll let you get back to her. I was just checkin' you were okay. Are we still on for tomorrow night?"

"Of course, man. Garrett said he's in as well."

"Cool –"

"Hey, Jazz? Why don't you come for dinner this week?"

"Yeah, sure, why not? Just let me know what day."

"I'll check with Bella and I'll text you."

"Sweet. Later bro."

I set my cell phone back on the nightstand, rolling back toward the beautiful girl asleep beside me. I carefully stroke her hair away from her face, smiling slightly as she sighs in her sleep. She stirs a little, tossing an arm over her eyes. The movement reveals the tattoo on her side – it's not big, maybe the size of her palm, a delicate design etched over her ribcage, about halfway between her armpit and waist. Tentatively, I run a finger over the intricately embellished J, noting the two dates that are incorporated in the design: September 25, 2005; October 18, 2005. I snatch my hand away as though burned, my heart clenching painfully as my mind makes sense of the dates: Jacob's death, the loss of their baby.

Bella sighs again, and rolls toward me, obscuring the ink from my view. I shake my head in agitation, trying to dislodge the thoughts of Bella's suffering from my brain. It's her birthday, and though we've slept away so much of it, I want her to enjoy what remains. It's my goal today to make her smile and laugh until her cheeks ache.

* * *

><p>I watch Bella spend September 25 in a daze, struggling to keep herself together. She barely offers me a word, and seems completely oblivious to Garrett's presence in the house. I suspect his family may have alerted him to the anniversary of Jacob's death, because he actually sleeps at home for close to a week. It pains me to consider the fact that this time last year, I had noticed Bella fading before my eyes and yet had no concept of what she was truly going through – the awful memories that this time of year stirs up for her.<p>

Unable to bear the thought of her spending October 18 by herself, I take the day off work. Garrett has long since returned to sleeping at Katie's, which causes me to wonder exactly how much of the story Bella has shared with her family. Do they know about Jacob's betrayal? About Leah? About the baby? Or has she borne that all alone? It makes my chest ache to even contemplate the possibility of her having kept her silence.

Bella stumbles into the kitchen while I'm brewing coffee. My presence, and my obviously casual clothing, seems to confuse her.

"Are you sick?" she asks, her voice hoarse. There are deep purple circles under her eyes, which are already lined with red. I hate knowing she has already been crying – and that I was not there to hold her.

I shake my head, handing her a mug of coffee. "I took the day off."

"Why? Are you okay?"

"No. I, uh, I thought … Well, I thought maybe you'd need some company, today."

Bella gapes at me, her eyes wide. "How do you – No, Garrett … I don't – Mom doesn't even … But … How?" She shakes her head, her eyes squeezing shut.

"Your tattoo."

Bella's face crumples and she slumps into a chair, her head falling into her hands. I catch the movement of her shoulders as she sobs, and I move immediately to kneel at her side.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry, did I do the wrong thing? Do you need some time to yourself? I'm sorry, I … I didn't want you to be alone today."

She raises her head from the table, and the pain I see etched across her face is utterly crushing – I feel tears begin to sting the corners of my eyes as she allows me to witness the depths of her anguish. Her face is streaked with tears, the remains of yesterday's make-up smudging her porcelain cheeks.

It takes her several attempts to whisper a broken "Thank you." Unable to bear the distance between us any longer, I pull her out of the chair and into my lap. We sit on the floor of the kitchen for an interminable space of time, Bella weeping and grieving, my hands stroking her hair, her back, my voice whispering any words of comfort I can seize upon. We cling to each other until her tears cease to flow, until she falls silent, exhausted by her grief.

When I feel her wriggling, I look down into her face, which is breathtakingly beautiful – in spite of her splotchy skin, dried tears and dark smudges. My fingers move to wipe away the black streaks, but I think I only make matters worse, spreading the residual make-up across her cheeks.

"Shit, sorry."

"For what?" Bella's voice is raspy and strained.

"I, uh, I smudged your make-up stuff everywhere."

Bella smiles, rolling her eyes at me. The playful gesture makes my heart thump wildly in my chest, and seeing her lips curve upward causes mine to mimic the movement.

"I'm a mess as it is. I don't think you could've done too much damage."

"You're perfect," I tell her honestly.

Bella clambers off my lap, pulling at me until I get to my feet. She grabs my hand and pulls me after her. Inside the bathroom, she takes a look at her reflection and snorts in amusement. "Oh yeah, check me out. That's perfection, alright."

I shake my head at her as I turn start the water in the basin running. I pick her up and set her on the counter, moving to stand between her knees. When the water begins to run warm, I reach for a washcloth and wet it thoroughly. Cupping her jaw with one hand, I begin to wipe away the make-up, tears and grime that sully her cheeks.

When her cheeks are pink and clean, and all the dark smudges around her eyes have been washed away, I set the cloth down. I press a kiss to each of her cheeks, then brush my lips carefully against her mouth.

"You're perfect."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading, my lovelies. Reviews make me smile.<strong>


	10. Tip of My Tongue: Dec 2009

**Chapter 9: Tip of My Tongue**

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><p><strong>AN: A special thank you to Tam, who helps make my words pretty and my heart happy.**

**I put a few helpful images on my tumblr for this chapter: ****shellisthimbles(dot)tumblr(dot)com**

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><p><em><strong>Tip of My Tongue<strong>_**, The Civil Wars**

_**You're a red string tied to my finger  
><strong>__**A little love letter I carry with me  
><strong>__**You're sunlight  
><strong>__**Smoke rings and cigarettes  
><strong>__**Outlines and kisses from silverscreens**_

_**Oh dear  
><strong>__**Never saw you comin'  
><strong>__**Oh my  
><strong>__**Look what you have done  
><strong>__**You're my favorite song  
><strong>__**Always on the tip of my tongue**_

_**You own me with whispers like poetry  
><strong>__**Your mouth is a melody I memorize  
><strong>__**Mmm, so sweet  
><strong>__**I hear it echo everywhere I go  
><strong>__**Day and night**_

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><p><strong>December 2009.<strong>

"Hey."

"Hey Gar, you at home?"

"Ah, yeah. But I'm about to walk out the door."

"Awesome. Can you do something for me?"

"Maybe."

"I need you to go into Bella's closet, and tell me what size shoe she wears."

"Seriously, Edward? Are you fucking with me?"

"Yes, I'm serious."

"Why don't you just ask her?"

"Dude, because, obviously, I'm buying her a Christmas present and it's a surprise. If I wanted to ask her, I would have just called her."

"Oh. You're heaps weird. You know that, hey?"

"_Hey_, yeah I do. Whatever. Are you going to help me out or not?"

I hear Garrett stamping around and muttering to himself, and I stifle a laugh.

"I seriously have to go into her closet? Katie just leaves her shoes wherever she takes them off. Bella always puts the bloody things away, hey?" he sighs.

"Usually, yeah."

"If she comes home while I'm in her room, I'm gonna dob you in."

"Sure, sure."

"Seven."

"Are they all that size? Check a few other pairs."

"You've got to be kidding me … _Shit_. Six and a half. Thirty-six and a half. Six and a half. Thirty seven. Is that enough?"

"Yeah. Thanks, man."

I laugh as the line goes dead. Grinning, I turn to the middle-aged lady standing at the counter.

"Did you have any luck, dear?"

"Yeah. I think a thirty-seven."

She nods, clicking her tongue as she fusses around with the box.

"Your girlfriend's going to love these," she says, her smile doting.

I chuckle, but don't bother correcting her. "I hope so."

* * *

><p>"Ed-waaaaard?"<p>

That tone of voice can't mean anything good. Chucking my towel over my desk chair, I turn to search through my drawer for some clean underwear. "Yes, Bella?"

"Can I ask you something?" She swings my bedroom door open, her expression pleading. _Damn it. _She's about to get her way on something – I just hope it's nothing too painful. I really need to learn how to say "No" to this woman.

"You need to put some clothes on."

I roll my eyes at her. "Firstly, you could always knock. And secondly, it's nothing you haven't already seen."

"That's the problem," she pouts, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "I've seen it, I've felt it, and I like it. Now, I can't remember what I wanted."

"Good." I chuckle. "I'll have to remember that. Next time you ask me to do something I don't want to do, I'll just take off my clothes to distract you."

Bella shakes her head at me, giggling a little. "That's not fair."

"Whatever, sweetheart." I shake my head as I pick up yesterday's jeans. Forgoing underwear – I _really_ need to do some laundry – I slide them up my legs. I fasten the button before pointing a finger at her. "I've just discovered your Achilles heel."

Bella raises an eyebrow. "I'll just ask you for favors in public, then."

"Maybe I'm an exhibitionist?"

Bella giggles and she throws herself at me. I let her tackle me, pulling her down with me onto my, as yet, unmade bed.

"You're not an exhibitionist," she says, looking down at me with a grin.

"No, I'm not," I agree, kissing her cheek.

"I remember what I came to ask."

"Well, come on, then. What diabolical scheme have you cooked up? Go easy on me, please." I reach out and grab my pillow, shoving it behind my head. Bella rests her forearms across my chest, her chin balanced on them as she watches me.

She sighs, and though a smile still pulls at her lips, her eyes are serious. "I don't think it's diabolical, not this time. No BBC movies to make you suffer through, no obnoxious parties we need to attend, I promise."

"You're nervous."

"A little, yeah. I, uh, I was just thinking … Maybe, it'd be nice to have some friends over for an early Christmas dinner – just, like, Alice, and Rose, and Garrett and Katie … You know, just a few people, something simple."

I blink up at her, a little surprised. "That sounds … well, that sounds really nice, actually. When do you want to do it?"

"Uh, I don't know. Before I go home, I suppose."

It hadn't even occurred to me that Bella would be heading back to San Francisco for the holidays. Though we're both out of the house for long hours, what free time we have is always spent in each other's company – even more so now that it's too damn cold for her to go sailing. I suppress the urge to pout at her leaving – she has family who worry about her constantly, and probably miss her terribly. It also doesn't escape my notice that she still refers to San Francisco as "home," – a thought which causes something in my stomach to twist uneasily.

"Maybe I could ask Jasper, too?" I suggest, watching her closely.

"Of course. But, uh, will your other friends be upset?" Bella's voice takes on an edge I don't quite understand.

"Why would they be?" I frown, trying to piece together her concern.

"Well, I know you used to all be really close ... But, now you spend lots of time with me. I just, I don't want your friends to resent me for stealing you away. You know, 'cause of Leah." Bella trails off, her eyes refusing to meet mine.

"Bella, look at me." She complies, and my breath hitches at the hesitation and worry I see reflected back at me. Sweet, silly girl. "You're concerned that they'll be offended if I invite Jazz over, but not the rest of the crew?"

Bella nods, worry creasing between her eyes.

"Please, you don't need to worry about that." I tuck her hair behind her ear, and offer her a smile. "Things between all of us started to deteriorate before you even moved here. When Jasper and Angela divorced, it got really messy. It wasn't anyone's fault … Well, it kind of _was_ Angie's fault, but that can't be helped now. And, yeah, I was really bitter about it for a long time, but, honestly, I think it probably would have happened eventually, regardless. People will move away now that they've graduated, they'll get married, they'll make new friends, they'll just change – grow up, want different things out of life. Lots of us would have drifted apart anyway. I don't blame you for that. And they're stupid if they do, okay?"

I can see she isn't entirely convinced, and I lift my head to press a kiss to her nose.

"So, uh, when are you heading home?" I try to infuse my voice with cheerfulness, but it falls flat.

Looking away from me, Bella's gaze drifts toward the window. "If I had my way," she sighs, her eyes on the snowflakes whirling and spinning on the icy breeze, "I'd only be there for a day or two. But, that'd probably break my Mom's heart, so I guess I'll leave around the 22nd, and be back before the New Year. I've put my family through enough shit, the least I can do is give them a week – prove to them that I'm doing okay."

"Are you?" I keep my voice gentle.

"Am I what?" She asks, her eyes still focused on the world outside my bedroom window.

"Are you doing okay?"

She is silent for so long that I wonder if I've fucked up by asking.

"I think so." Her eyes finally meet mine, disarming me with the honesty I see in their golden depths. "I'm happier than I have been in a long time. I feel, I don't know … secure."

My arms tighten around her, pulling her closer. She holds my gaze for a moment longer, before her expression shifts again and she grins down at me wickedly.

"Whatever you're about to ask, the answer is no." I speak before she can open her mouth, which causes her to burst into a fit of giggles. Fuck, I love that sound.

"Well, I was just going to say –" her expression is haughty, but her eyes are full of mischief, "– that perhaps I was a little hasty in suggesting you put some clothes on."

I groan, pulling her up my body so that her mouth is within an inch of my own.

"But if you're not interested –"

I silence her with my lips, before I proceed to show her exactly how interested I am.

* * *

><p>The first time I take Bella to meet my parents, they fall in love with her. We have a casual Sunday brunch at one of Bella's favorite little cafés, and over coffee and pastries, I watch as Mom's obvious warmth draws Bella out of her nervous quietude. A strange affection fills my chest as I watch Mom and Bella smiling and laughing in the clear winter sunlight that streams in through the expansive windows of the café.<p>

When I cock an eyebrow at her, silently asking if she's okay, Bella smiles softly at me over the rim of her coffee mug, and I feel her small hand squeeze my thigh in reassurance. I grin back, relief making me a little giddy. When she turns back to her conversation with Mom, Dad's low chuckle causes my head to snap in his direction.

"Your mother adores her already." Dad's voice is quiet, for my hearing only.

"Bella's great." I shrug. "She's really easy to like."

He nods, his eyes on Mom's face, a small smile playing at his lips. "So I can see." He watches Mom for a moment longer before turning his gaze on me. I frown at the knowing look in his grey eyes.

"What?"

Dad laughs. "Nothing, son. You'll figure it out." He claps me on the back before picking up his coffee. "So, how's work going?"

"It's fine," I sigh, my mind still trying to understand his cryptic words. "Uh, you know, it's work. I work eight until six, I do my job well, and then I come home and forget about it. I don't love it, but it's a job."

"Are you planning on staying there long-term?"

"I have no idea," I admit. My gaze flits across to the sweet girl laughing with my mom, before I focus on my dad's face again. "The firm's helping me jump all the hoops I need to get licensed, and Marcus has been dropping hints that I should get my Master's. I dunno, though."

"You seem … unenthusiastic."

"I guess. Do you love your job all the time?"

"No, I suppose not. It has its moments, but there are a lot of days that I force myself out of bed."

"I'm not going to change the world helping people turn their money into more money, you know? But it's a good job. There's good opportunities for me to move up the ladder, and it will be a good, steady support for a family – if I'm lucky enough to have one someday."

"That's very pragmatic of you, Edward. I'd just hate to see you completely miserable in ten years time. You know, resenting not having pursued something you find true joy in."

I hesitate for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. "I suppose, I've always thought it was the hours I don't spend at work that would fulfill me, Dad. From what I can see, very few people land their 'dream job,' and even then, at the end of the day – it's still _work._ I don't, I mean, I don't really want to define myself by my career. It's everything else that matters – family, friends, uh, love, I guess."

Dad is silent for so long that I wonder if he's even been listening to me. He watches Mom and Bella some more before he looks back at me, nodding once. He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder; I don't know if it's a gesture of approval or sympathy.

By the time Bella and I decide it's time to head home, Mom is promising to teach Bella to knit, much to my girl's delight. They exchange numbers, deciding to meet up in the same café during the week. I smile to myself at the thought of the two of them knitting and chatting away, steaming cups of tea in front of them.

"Your parents are awesome," Bella tells me, tucking her hand into my pocket as we start to walk the few blocks home. It's bitingly cold, but the sun is still out, bouncing red and gold sparks off the lengths of Bella's hair that aren't being held captive by the cute hooded scarf she's wearing.

"Yeah, they are." I smile. "I think my mom has a crush on you."

"Well, good. Because I totally have a crush on your mom, too." She giggles, hiding her blush-stained cheeks from me as she ducks her head. Inside my pocket, I link my fingers through hers, squeezing them lightly.

"You look a lot like your Mom."

"Are you saying I look like a middle aged woman, Bella? Gee, thanks."

Bella laughs, swatting at me with her free hand. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. Though if it makes you feel better, I look a lot like my Dad, just without the mustache," she chuckles, hooking her finger across her top lip to demonstrate.

"Although, you have your dad's eyes," she continues. "They're quite startling."

"They're grey, Bella." I smirk, rolling them at her. "That's got to be the least interesting eye color in existence. Hell, it's not even a color, is it? It's achromatic."

"They're not _just_ grey," she tells me indignantly. Tugging me to a halt, she stands on her toes, staring into my eyes with an intensity that seems to cause the air around us to crackle. "They're … flint, or steel. They're a rainstorm brewing. They're the Pacific Ocean fog enveloping the city."

"Uh, what?" I snort a little, but Bella's face is abruptly serious. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," she says, though she shakes her head. "I just remembered something, that's all."

"Will you tell me?" I expect her to deny me.

"There's a poem about San Francisco that I just remembered. It's called 'The Cool, Grey City of Love'. I haven't heard it in years. I can only recall bits and pieces of it."

Her eyes are far away when she begins to recite.

"_Tho the dark be cold and blind,  
><em>_Yet her sea-fog's touch is kind,  
><em>_And her mightier caress  
><em>_Is joy and the pain thereof;  
><em>_And great is thy tenderness,  
><em>_O cool, grey city of love!"_

She falls silent, still lost in her thoughts. Wordlessly, I wrap my free arm around her shoulders, embracing her briefly and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Shall we keep moving, sweetheart?" I prompt.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Come on."

We make our way home at leisurely pace, stopping along the way so Bella can dig through buckets and baskets of who knows what in some of the vintage stores scattered through the neighborhood. She purchases bits and pieces in a few stores, her eyes lighting up with each treasure she happens upon.

I'm flipping through a box of old vinyls when I hear Bella giggling. Startled, I look up to see her talking animatedly to the guy behind the counter. He's grinning, leaning toward her on his ink-covered arms. Fucking hipster. I can see the greed and desire as his gaze crawls all over her – I'm desperate to go to her, to pull her under my arm, out of the reach of his roving eyes. He licks his mouth as she speaks, as she moves those lips - those ripe, almost pulsing lips. I can feel their heat from here. I've felt that heat. Can he feel it? He must. I want to cover her mouth with my own, hide those lips, hide it all. Jealousy and frustration sneer at me, mocking me. They are not emotions I am entitled to. She's not my girl.

Bella laughs again as he points to her scarf, and she smiles and nods. I can't hear what she's saying, but the look on his face needs no translation. He's captivated, desirous, _wanting_. When he reaches out to touch her arm, my jaw tightens, my teeth grind, and I choke on my breath. My stomach twists and my heart clenches, but I can't look away. Bella steps away, moving out of his reach before his fingers can connect with her skin. I see the flash of annoyance in his eyes, which is all it takes for me to start moving toward them.

Bella looks over her shoulder before I've taken more than two steps, her eyes meeting mine, her brow furrowing. I'm wary, unsure of myself as I approach. I might be feeling jealous and protective, but I need to take my cues from her.

"Are you ready to go, baby?" she asks me.

"Yeah. Are you?" I ask, watching her closely.

"Uh-huh." She grabs my hand, twining our fingers. The simple gesture is like a deep, cleansing breath, and the muscles my shoulders and jaw relax with her cold touch.

Hipster-boy is forgotten as she leads me back into the street, but my jealousy is not. Bella may not have been interested in _this_ guy, but what if she does meet someone else that she wants? Could I watch her date and fall in love with another man? I want to tell myself that I could – that Bella's happiness is what matters. I mean, it's not as though_ I_ want a relationship with her … _do I?_

Bella interrupts the chaos in my mind, twirling herself under our clasped hands like a dancer. Hey playfulness brings a smile to my lips and a calming rhythm to my heart. I push away all my questions and confusion and allow myself to just enjoy what we have, what we are together.

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><p>The afternoon of our little Christmas gathering, Bella bosses me around, getting me to do an assortment of jobs from stringing lights, to cleaning the windows and vacuuming the floors. I indulge her, mostly because she works every bit as hard herself, juggling the cooking of a variety of dishes while simultaneously decorating the house.<p>

By the time Jasper shows up with a couple of six packs, I'm exhausted. The house looks pretty damn amazing though, I must say.

"Hey bro, happy Christmas."

"Thanks, dude," I sigh. "Come on in."

"Woah. Your place looks amazing."

"Bella."

Jazz laughs at my explanation. "Hey, where is she?"

"I think she's in the kitchen."

When I catch sight of Bella flitting around the kitchen, it stops me in my tracks. Jasper gives me a sideways glance as he sidesteps me, moving into the kitchen and greeting Bella with a kiss on the cheek and a cheerful smile. They chat and catch up for a few minutes while I stand in the doorway, still gaping at the dark haired beauty in my kitchen.

I can't tear my eyes from her. She's wearing quite a simple dress, knee length, belted at the waist, with a deep vee in the front. The dark purple color looks absolutely stunning against her skin and seems to make her eyes shine gold. Of course, she's managed to find a pair of cherry red heels that should clash but somehow don't. Her make up is understated, smoky eyes and raspberry lips, and her dark hair is a loose pile of curls at the nape of her neck.

The doorbell rings but I make no attempt to move, and Jasper claps me on the shoulder, laughing.

"I'll get it, I guess?"

"Uh."

Bella watches him disappear, before her dark eyes meet mine.

"Are you okay, baby?"

Her words break the spell I've been bound by and I'm on her in a flash, pressing her up against the counter as my lips seek out hers with a strange frenzy. Bella's mouth responds eagerly, her lips and tongue dancing with mine. I moan, pushing my hips against her and delighting in her answering whimper. When I pull away to gasp for breath, she puts her hand on my chest, stopping me from reclaiming her mouth.

"Later," she whispers. "We've got guests here."

"You look amazing," I tell her, still trying to slow my breathing and calm my body.

"Thank you. You look very handsome, also." She grins and straightens the collar of my shirt. "But I'm not sure that lipstick is your color."

I groan as she hands me a napkin, wiping my mouth of her lipstick. Bella's timing is excellent – I've just wiped the last of it from my face when Jasper reappears, a girl on either arm. He smirks at me, a knowing look in his eyes, as Bella greets her guests excitedly.

The two girls are a study in contrasts. Alice is tiny, dark hair, dark eyes and bright red lips. Her clothes are trendy, and the multitude of necklaces and bracelets she's wearing make her seem to jingle as she bounces around on a pair of insanely high heels. I make a mental note to give her a wide berth - one false step and those things would probably punch a fucking hole through my foot. Rose, on the other hand, is only a few inches shorter than me, and her sun-streaked blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail, her tanned face completely free of make-up. She's wearing jeans, chucks, and a vintage band shirt.

When Garrett and Katie turn up, Bella ushers them all into the dining room, while I help her carry the enormous quantities of food she's prepared to the table. She announces that as I'm the man of the house, it's my duty to carve the freaking turkey that she's spent the entire day hovering over. Garrett protests, but Bella laughingly informs him that he has to come home more than once a week before he qualifies for turkey carving duty.

We eat and laugh, drink and talk well into the evening. Rosalie and Alice, to my surprise, seem to hit it off immediately. Rose is apparently quite interested in sailing through South-East Asia at some point, and Alice is happy to share non-stop anecdotes from her family's frequent trips back to Vietnam.

"I mean, it's sort of just like eating … popcorn, I guess, and Mẹ grew up with it all. I wasn't even born there and I was happy enough to try them, but she completely freaked out and was trying to chase this poor guy away with her umbrella. Cha and I were just standing there, in absolute stitches, while she totally lost it."

When I feel Bella's small hand on my thigh, I look up in surprise. She catches my eye, then glances at Jasper, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly. Curious, I look over at him, stifling a laugh when I see what has caught Bella's attention. My gregarious friend is clearly watching, more than listening to Alice. A slight smile meets his face as she bounces in her chair, her hands gesturing wildly.

Garrett, Katie and Rose are all laughing uproariously as Alice tells them about her experience of eating fried crickets and other peculiar delicacies in the streets of Hanoi. Jasper's expression, however, is less one of amusement and more of, well, adoration. _Huh._

Bella leans into my side, her lips at my ear.

"I thought he'd be more attracted to Rose."

I frown, considering Bella's words, before I shake my head.

"No, they're too similar. They'll get on well, I'm sure, but they're both too easy-going and laidback. He needs someone to energize him."

Bella looks at me thoughtfully, then hums in agreement.

"What are you two biddies gossiping about over there?" Katie's voice startles me.

"Whether or not it's time for dessert," Bella replies smoothly. She squeezes my leg again before she disappears into the kitchen, taking a pile of dirty dishes with her. The other girls promptly follow suit, laughing together as they clear the remaining dishes from the table.

"You two seem happy." Garrett scowls at me – clearly he is still not happy with Bella and my pseudo-relationship.

I shrug. "We have fun together." Thank fuck he doesn't know just how much fun we're having.

"She seems happy. More … open." He doesn't like admitting this – I can see it in the hardness in his eyes, the tightness around his mouth.

I don't say anything.

Jasper looks between the two of us, clearing his throat. "So, you going back to San Fran for Christmas, Garrett?"

"Hey? Oh, yeah. Mum and Renee are planning some family thing, so we're going there for a few days, then we'll head to Katie's parents place for a few days."

"Where's Katie from?" Jazz asks.

"She grew up here, but her parents moved to Florida last year."

"Right. That's a bit of travelling, then."

Garrett nods, though he smirks a little. "It's necessary, but. Gotta have a little chat with her old man, hey?"

"Nice," Jazz reaches across the table to shake his hand, and mechanically, I follow suit. I shouldn't be surprised, he told me over a year ago that he intended to marry her. Still, something about his casual revelation bothers me.

"Well, I'm stoked for you, dude." Jazz grins, before his expression falters. "Speaking of relationships and shit, uh, Emmett and Leah broke up."

"What?" Bella's voice startles me, and I watch her closely as Jasper explains.

"Uh, yeah. She took a job in New York. And he doesn't want to move there, so they're splitting up."

"Leah's moving to New York?" I can't read Bella's expression, but it's not the relief I would have anticipated seeing.

"Yeah. In the new year, I think. It all happened really quickly. I mean, Emmett knew she'd applied for the job, I just don't think he really thought about what it would mean for them."

Bella says nothing more, turning on her heel and retreating to the kitchen. I'm about to follow her, to make sure she's okay, when she reappears, carrying the fancy cake thing that she assures me is actually called a chocolate "torte." Her eyes seek out mine and she winks at me in reassurance.

Hours later, once our guests have headed home, groaning about their full bellies, and we have washed and dried and stacked away what seems like every single dish we own, I pull Bella onto the couch with me, sighing deeply. I have enjoyed the evening, but I'm relieved to finally be alone with my girl. She's leaving to go home in the morning, and I want – _need_ – to hold her close tonight.

"I have something for you," she smiles.

"Me, too." I murmur, as my lips make their way from her collarbone to her cheek.

"Let's unwrap the presents first, baby, okay?"

I pout a little. "Can I unwrap you afterward?"

Bella giggles as she stands. I watch, mesmerized by her swaying hips, as she makes her way toward her room. "Are you coming or what?"

I hasten back to my room to grab Bella's present, then make my way quickly to her bedroom, flipping off lights as I go.

In her dimly lit room, Bella is sitting on her bed, leaning down to unbuckle her sexy red shoes.

"Leave them on." I tell her, my voice quiet but firm. Bella's cheeks color, but she sits up, leaving them fastened.

"Presents first," she admonishes me, catching my leer.

"Presents first," I concede. I'm unaccountably nervous as I hand her the large box.

Bella tears into the paper, and her smile is wide as she lifts the lid on the cherry red leather nestled in the box.

"Oh my goodness. These are … these are amazing. I love them, Edward. But …" she frowns at the shoes still on her feet, "I want to try them on now!"

"Later." I tell her. "They should fit, I made Garrett snoop through your shoes to check the size."

Bella giggles, pulling one of the knee-high boots from the box to examine it closely. "These are perfect, Edward, really. I've wanted to buy some red boots for ages, but most of them look really trashy. These are so cool – the heel's not too high or chunky, and they look really classy."

"I'm glad you like them. I saw them when I was buying something for Mom, and yeah, I, uh, thought they'd look sexy-as-fuck on you."

With a brilliant smile, Bella places them carefully back between the tissue, closing the lid and setting the box on the floor. Leaning forward, she grabs a fistful of my shirt and pulls me close, kissing me feverishly.

She's breathless when she releases me. "Thank you, Edward, really."

"You're welcome, love. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, baby." Bella hands me a small box, a little smile playing on her full lips.

The wrapping off, I lift the lid to reveal the coolest watch I've ever seen. The face is set on a thick, black leather cuff. The mechanism is exposed – it doesn't run off a battery, but rather needs to be wound every day.

"This is fantastic, sweetheart. Thank you."

"I'm glad you like it."

"I do, very much." Placing the box carefully on the nightstand, I get to my feet, pulling Bella with me. I duck my head to kiss her softly, delighting in the movement of her lips against mine.

I spin her slowly, my lips moving to her shoulders, then tracing down her spine as I lower the zipper on her party dress. Bella shrugs her shoulders, causing the fabric to slip to the floor, a dark pool at her feet. Clad only in her panties and shoes, she turns to face me again, offering me an unusually shy smile.

"You're stunning," I tell her, my voice coming out with a rasp. Hooking my fingers in the lace at her hips, I kneel before her, sliding her skimpy underwear down her legs. Her dark gaze locks with mine as she steps out of them, her eyelids heavy with desire.

When Bella falls asleep beside me, hours later, I carefully unbuckle her shoes and set them on the floor beside the bed. I lie back down next to her and she burrows into my side immediately. Smiling, I stroke the dark mess of her hair away from her face. My fingers linger on her cheek, pale in the moonlight.

I think of the way they flushed with pleasure as I knelt before her, my tongue unrelenting as she succumbed to pleasure. I think of them damp with sweat as she moved over me, as we shared breath and ecstasy. I think of the way they lift with her smile, crinkle with her laugh and shine with her tears. I press a kiss to the soft skin my fingers are memorizing, inhaling deeply. This moment, this breath – I don't want it to end.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you so much for reading, lovelies. I love hearing your thoughts about how things are going with these two.<strong>

**Shell xx**

* * *

><p><strong>Please, head over and read BelieveItOrNot's <em>In the Debris, <em>if you're not already. **

**It's exquisite. **


	11. Space They Cannot Touch: NYE 200910

**Chapter 10: Space They Cannot Touch**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Big snuggle-hugs for Tamara. She's the best. Thank you so much for your help, bb. xx**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Space They Cannot Touch,<strong>_** Kate Miller-Heidke.**

_**How's my luck  
><strong>__**But somehow  
><strong>__**I'm with you  
><strong>__**Let's leave now**_

_**Let's leave them  
><strong>__**And their point of view  
><strong>__**My favourite place is me and you**_

_**I wake up  
><strong>__**In darkest night  
><strong>__**I watch you breathe  
><strong>__**In shadow light**_

_**A perfect world  
><strong>__**Lies next to me  
><strong>__**And I don't need to sleep to dream**_

_**I just hope I am good enough to keep you**_

_**Morning sun  
><strong>__**Warms our skin  
><strong>__**Distant sounds  
><strong>__**The day begins**_

_**Soon their world  
><strong>__**Will come calling for us  
><strong>__**But this is space they cannot touch**_

_**I just hope I am good enough to keep you.**_

* * *

><p><strong>New Years Eve, 200910.**

"_Hey, this is Bella. Don't leave a message, 'cause I probably won't listen to it."_

Grumbling, I throw my phone across the room. As soon as it leaves my hand, I regret it – fortunately, it lands safely on my bed. Too agitated to sit down, I wander around the house, moving from room to room aimlessly. I hesitate, my hand on Bella's doorknob. I could just lie down on her bed for a while. It smells like her, like us – it would soothe me. Chastising myself for being stupid, and a little creepy, I drag my feet back toward the kitchen, away from temptation.

Bella should be home by now. I look at the oven clock. She should have been home an hour ago. She said her flight was getting in at four o'clock. It's nearly six. I frown at the snowflakes fluttering past the kitchen window. Fuckers. If her flight is delayed …

I'm on feet as soon as I hear a car in the driveway. The flash of yellow sends relief coursing through me. I'm outside and halfway to the cab before I remember it's fucking snowing and I'm not wearing a jacket. Or shoes. _Shit._

I'm hobbling and hopping toward her on the snow-slick driveway when I hear Bella's shout.

"Edward! Get back inside, you idiot! I can manage."

Muttering obscenities under my breath, I retreat back into the warmth of the house, pulling off my ice-covered socks. I bounce on my toes, waiting impatiently for Bella to drag her suitcase inside. As soon as she's inside, bag and all, I slam the door closed and drag her into my embrace. I ignore the fact that her coat is wet and cold – breathing in the scent of shampoo, wool and _Bella_.

"Did you miss me or something?" she asks, her voice muffled against my chest.

"Or something." I press a kiss to her hair.

Bella pushes me back, and my heart clenches a little. She's stunning: her cheeks pink with cold, her dark hair wild around her shoulders, snowflakes melting on her eyelashes. She gifts me with a brilliant smile as she pulls off her wool cap. I start to unbutton her coat and she slaps my hands away, giggling.

"Alright, alright. You'll get me naked soon enough!" she laughs.

Her assumption sobers me immediately. "No. Shit, Bella, I'm sorry. That's not –"

"Baby, I'm joking." She smiles as she shrugs out of her heavy coat, hanging it by the door. She kicks her boots off and my mouth quirks a little. It makes me ridiculously happy to see her wearing them. Of course, the perverted voice in the back of my mind is suggesting that she keep _them_ on and take everything else off.

I'm trying to tell that voice to shut the fuck up when Bella surprises me by jumping into my arms. I stagger back a few steps under her weight, as her legs wrap around my waist. I start moving us toward the couch, but Bella shakes her head, her eyes sparkling. "Bathroom."

I stop in my tracks, my eyes wide.

"I'm freezing, and I smell like airplane." She giggles, before poking me in the chest. "And you just ran outside without any warm clothes on. We need a long, hot shower."

I nod dumbly, changing course. Once inside, I flick the lock on the doorknob. I don't care that Garrett is supposed to be in Florida for another week – I'm not going to chance us being interrupted.

We strip quickly, hisses of discomfort becoming sighs of relief as our chilled skin turns pink and warms up under the flow of scalding water. Taking turns, we wash each other's hair, taking every opportunity to embrace and exchange gentle touches. Though the air is heavy with steam, I feel as though I can really breathe with Bella close to me again.

Being enclosed in a small space with her, watching the rivulets of water trace her curves, it's impossible to hide my arousal. I'm almost embarrassed by my body's betrayal, but Bella gives me a small smile, standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss to my lips. She drops to her knees, surrounding me with her warm mouth, and it's no time at all before I'm groaning, panting, and shuddering.

As we step out of the shower, I pull an enormous, fluffy towel around her shoulders, rubbing her back and holding her close. I'm reluctant to allow any distance between us. "How was it?" I murmur.

Bella shrugs – she knows immediately to what I'm referring. "Okay. Yeah, it was good, I guess. I was really happy to see my dad. And, yeah, Mom and Phil are pretty fun. Well, once they realized I was fine and didn't need twenty-four-seven babysitting."

I smile sadly, my stomach twisting a little. It's not really surprising to me that her parents would worry about her being back in San Francisco, concerned about how she would deal with all the reminders of Jacob and their baby. I certainly lost more than a few hours sleep in the last week myself – imagining her tears, knowing I couldn't hold her while she shed them.

"They're happy to see me doing well." Bella continues. "They can see Chicago's been good for me."

I press a kiss to her nose, and Bella flashes me a grin before she steps out of my embrace, turning toward the mirror. She rakes her fingers through her wet hair, before picking up a brush. "Of course, just as I start to feel settled, there's more upheaval around the corner." She trails off, concentrating on working the snarls out of her long hair. That twisty thing in my stomach makes its presence known again.

"What do you mean?" I ask. I'm relieved that my words come out steady, despite the panic unfurling in my chest. I take the brush from her hand and start to work it carefully through her hair, gently easing the bristles through her tangles.

"Well, I've only got six months of school left, and then … I don't know. I don't know what I want to do. Mom's pestering me to make a decision, though."

"Six months?" Panic is making me stupid, it's wings beating erratically within my chest. And yet, somehow, I manage to keep my voice even. "Don't you have a year and a half left?"

Bella catches my eyes in the mirror, her expression puzzled. "Uh, no. With summer school, and all the extra classes I've taken, I'm able to graduate early."

"A year early?" I can't breathe.

Bella nods, then turns to face me, her expression concerned. "Are you okay, Edward?"

I exhale, trying to get a grip on my emotions. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," I lie.

In my mind, I've been relying on having Bella by my side for so much longer. I've simply taken it for granted that she will be here, with me, for at least another eighteen months. She doesn't know what she's going to do when she graduates. What if – the thought chills me as effectively as the icy wind blowing outside could – what if she moves _home_? What if she's decided she can handle being there now, and she wants to move back to San Francisco?

Panic and need overwhelm me and I pull Bella close, my lips seeking out hers with a desperation I can't quite make sense of. I stop thinking and allow the sheer need I feel to guide me, as my hands and my mouth seek to be everywhere at once. I need to be as close to Bella as I can – I _need_ … I need to consume her.

My lips are hard against hers as I set her on the counter top. I have to remind myself to pull away to let her breathe. I don't want to breathe. I don't want air. I have no need for oxygen. I just need Bella. I need to be inside her, I need to fuse myself to her. I need to pull her inside myself.

"Hey, baby. Calm down. It's okay." Bella's voice is just a soft croon, but it's the only sound that can permeate the haze that's settled into my brain.

I yank myself away. Ashamed, I pry my hands from her soft skin, my fingers twitching in protest; I ignore them.

"I'm so sorry." I take a step back, my eyes on the floor.

I hear the soft thud as Bella's feet land back on the floor. Her gentle hands appear in my line of sight, and a breath shudders from my lips as she places them carefully on my bare chest.

"It's okay," she tells me. "I missed you like crazy, too, you know?"

"You did?"

"Look at me."

Her brows are furrowed but her eyes are warm, gold sparking against brown.

"Edward … I haven't been close to anyone in a long time. Jacob – and Leah – really did a number on me. Since then, I haven't really had anyone_ to_ miss. I've only had a handful of friends, and I've only been with two guys. One was a wretched mistake I made just after I arrived in France, not long after I left the US. The other guy, well …" she smiles up at me, unaware that my heart is trying to thump it's way out of my chest. "He's my best friend. And being away from him for over a week really sucked."

Bella grabs my ear, pulling my face down to hers, and I can't help but chuckle.

"Why do you always go for the ears?"

She shrugs. "It works, doesn't it? Anyway, I was really liking where things were going, so if you don't mind –"

I don't need to be asked twice. Hoisting her legs around my waist, I stumble us back toward my bedroom, my lips frantically exploring her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, before they reclaim her mouth. She doesn't make it easy for me, writhing and grinding against me as I try to walk, until I have to press her against the wall in the hallway, panting heavily.

"You're making things very difficult, Bella," I chastise her. She whimpers as I buck my hips against her, her fingers grasping at my shoulders.

Overcome, I can't make myself wait, can't pull myself from her in order to make it the few feet farther to my bedroom. So, I ignore the voice that tells me it's wrong to fuck this precious woman against a wall, and I let desire and want drive me. It's hard and it's rough and it's over too soon.

I'm breathing harshly, my lungs burning, when my head finally begins to slow its spinning. I still have Bella pinned to the wall, her body limp against mine. Her head is thrown back, and her skin is damp with our mingled perspiration as she sucks in deep lungfuls of air. Did she – ? Did I – ? _Shit_.

"Bella?"

"Mmm."

"Bella, sweetheart? Are you okay?" My voice is taut, strained.

"Hmmmmm."

"Sweet girl, open your eyes, _please_."

"Can't."

"What?" A different panic grips my heart like a vice. "Did I hurt you? Bella, please. _Fuck!_"

"Yeahhhh."

"You're hurt?" The pitch my voice has reached makes it sound entirely foreign in my own ears.

Her head lolls from side to side. "Not hurt. Fucked."

"You're not hurt?" My knees feel weak with relief, and I'm suddenly aware of the painful burn in my thigh muscles as I continue to support Bella's weight. I ease us apart, feeling the loss as our bodies disconnect, and lower to her feet carefully. She sways a little, and my arms tighten around her, waiting for her to regain her balance.

"I'm not hurt," she says, her voice faint. Finally, finally, her eyes flutter open. "I'm, like, comatose … with pleasure. I … I'm not sure, I think … I might, ungh, still be coming."

My head drops to her shoulder, and I breathe in the scents of sweat and sex that swirl around us. She's not hurt. _Deep breath_. She enjoyed it. _Breathe again._

"I'm sorry." The words leave my mouth without my permission.

"For what? Trying to put me into an orgasm-induced coma?" Her voice is stronger now, steady.

"Yes. No. I, uh –"

"Shhh." Bella takes a step away from me, pushing a finger against my lips. She grimaces and my eyes widen, concerned. She catches my expression and rolls her pretty eyes up at me. "I'm just sticky. I'm not hurt, okay? We need to shower, again."

"Do you, um –"

"Stop it." Bella swats my ass, grabs my arm and tugs me back into the bathroom.

This time, we shower quickly, efficiently, scrubbing away the residue of my loss of control. We keep our hands to ourselves, drying off with already damp towels. The distance between us causes my stomach to twist uneasily.

Before she darts back to her room to clothe herself, Bella presses a kiss to my cheek. "Don't over-think it. I'm okay. We're okay."

I dress in a daze, pulling on sweatpants and a tee shirt, tugging on dry socks. I can't make sense of the emotions cascading through my mind. It's like, it's like a fucking avalanche is threatening to crush me. As I sit on the edge of my bed, my hands clutch at my head, trying to keep the confusion from overwhelming me.

"You're over-thinking." Her gentle voice startles me, and I'm shocked to see Bella kneeling before me. "It's New Years Eve, baby. We need to go to the liquor store before it closes. I want champagne."

"What time is it?"

"It's just after seven."

Just after seven? It's only been an hour since Bella blew back in on the icy breeze?

"Did you want to go out tonight?" I ask quietly. As much as I want her to say no, I'll take her wherever she wants to go. We've been invited to at least three different parties – that I'm aware of.

"Um, no, not really. Well, I want to go get some booze, but I thought we could just kick it here. Unless you want to go somewhere?"

"You, me and some booze sounds pretty perfect tonight, Bella."

"You'll drink with me?" Her eyes show her delight at the prospect.

I throw caution to the wind. "Yeah. Why not?"

* * *

><p>"I hate New Year's Eve."<p>

"What?"

"Yeah. I hate it. I hate the countdown. I hate that pause, that deep breath between 'One' and 'Happy New Year'. It's just …Ugh. It makes my skin crawl. I hate it. Since I was old enough to be allowed to stay up until midnight, I've always made it my top-secret mission to be asleep before eleven-thirty."

I frown at Bella, trying to make sense of her rambling. "But, you're, like, the queen of celebrations. You love birthdays and Christmas and shit."

She nods, her eyes glassy as she looks up at me. At some point she ended up in my lap. I think it was about halfway through our second bottle of the ridiculously expensive French champagne we decided to treat ourselves to. "Yeah. I like all the other things. But not New Year's Eve. That one, I do not like."

"I hate it, too."

"You do?" This seems to make Bella really happy and I grin lazily at her as she wriggles in my lap.

"Yeah. I don't give a fuck about the countdown. I just hate the symbolism people attach to it. The hope they try to infuse into it. I hate the way people act as though January first is somehow going to be so different from December thirty-first. I hate listening to people babble on about their resolutions. They're full of shit."

"You're a grumpy drunk."

I grab at the finger that's poking at my chest. "I'm not grumpy … and I'm not drunk."

"You shouldn't be drunk," she laughs. "You're such a lightweight! How did I never know this?"

"I told you. The medication poten … potentate … _fuck_ … potentiates the alcohol. Even though I'm bigger than you, it's like I'm drinking twice as much, twice as fast."

"Oh." Bella nods seriously. "We need another bottle, Edward."

"Yeah, but I don't want to get up." I sigh. "You feel nice."

"Huh?"

"You're all warm and squishy."

"Squishy? Dude, I don't think you're supposed to call girls squishy."

I stick my tongue out at her, which makes her dissolve into giggles. "Whatever, sweetheart. You know I think you're gorgeous. I love that you're squishy. Just a little bit. Just here. It's really sexy." I palm her ass, smiling as her pretty pink cheeks darken further.

"You're such a freak."

Cringing, I push Bella off my lap and stand up. My head spins a little – it's been a long time since I drank this much alcohol. Shaking my head, I stalk into the kitchen, away from _that_ word, which seems to still hang in the air, mocking me.

* * *

><p><em>Her blonde hair is blown straight and shiny, and her eyelids are shaded with a soft pink that makes her blue eyes sparkle. Her dress is a floaty lavender, swishing around her knees as she moves around her lounge room. She looks so very pretty tonight. <em>

_It's a striking contrast to the ugly words that are coming out of her mouth._

"_Seriously, Edward. For how long am I going to have to put up with this bullshit? We do nothing. We never have fun anymore – we never go out. We never meet new people. You always just want to stay in, or go hang out with_ your_ friends. I'm so tired of it."_

"_Heidi –"_

"_No. Shut up! Why don't you want to go out and show me off? Are you ashamed of me or something?"_

Take a deep breath. Count to three._ "No, Heidi, that's not it."_

"_Yeah, I know, I know. You have issues. Don't you think you could get over them, just for one night?"_

_I fist my hands inside my pockets. _Take a deep breath. Count to three_. My voice is low and harsh once I have the control to force it through my teeth. "Do you really think I choose this, Heidi? Do you really think I enjoy feeling like this?"_

_Her voice is brittle, cold. "It's all in your head."_

_My hand moves to the tie knotted at my neck, loosening it. _Take another breath. Count to three._ "That doesn't make it any less real."_

_I have to sit down. _Breathe. Count to three.

"_Are you fucking crying, Edward? Again? You're pathetic. I can't even talk to you, now, without you acting like a fucking freak?"_

_Freak. She spits the word at me – her disgust and rage sharpening its edges._

* * *

><p>"Hey. Are you okay?" This voice is infused with warmth. The little hand on my shoulder is hot and gentle.<p>

"Yeah. Just, uh, just give me a sec."

I'm standing over the sink, my hands bracing me as my chest heaves. Bella says nothing, but she does not step away. Her hand rubs between my shoulder blades – right over the space I need to keep filling with oxygen. _Deep breath. Count to three. _The movement of her hand keeps me steady. _Deep breath. Count to three._

"I'm sor –"

"Don't apologize, Edward. Please."

Pulling in another lungful of air, I turn to face her. I'm scared of what I'll see. Disgust? Contempt? Pity?

But the gaze I meet holds none of those things – rather, her eyes are warm with concern. I let her pull me into her embrace, kissing her hair as she holds me close.

"You know you're not, don't you?"

"Huh?"

"You're not a freak. Not at all."

"How did you –"

"As soon as the word fell out of my mouth, I saw it. I saw you flinch – I saw how much it hurt you. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. I know you didn't mean it." She's never once looked at me the way Heidi used to. "I overreacted, and I'm sorry. The word has … hurt … attached to it."

"Will you tell me about it?"

"Not tonight, okay?"

Bella looks up at me, her smile easy. "Okay. Now, where's that champagne?"

I'm relieved that she's not going to push tonight. It's not a story I want to tell with this much alcohol running through my veins.

She grabs another bottle from the fridge, and hands it to me. I announced I was on cork-popping duty after I watched her spill close to a third of the first bottle all over the kitchen floor.

I make quick work of the muselet, then wink at the pouting girl standing in front of me as I pop the cork out easily, and without spilling a drop.

"Show off."

"Sweetheart, I'm not being a show off, I'm being a conservationist. You splashed, like, a third of that bottle all over the floor. We had four bottles. If I let you open them all, it would have been the equivalent of tipping more than a whole bottle of this stuff down the drain."

Bella has no answer, so she flips me off and runs into the living room, her giggles floating back to me.

"Where are you going?" I demand.

"Well, the glasses are out here, and the couch is out here."

The girl has a point.

We don't make it to the fourth bottle. We argue about who is going to retrieve it from the kitchen for a few minutes, until I silence Bella with my lips. Our kisses are drunken and sloppy, routinely interrupted by fits of giggles.

We fall off the couch as Bella tries to maneuver her hand into my pants.

An empty bottle gets between my head and the carpet when I move to roll her on top of me.

She smashes her knee into a coffee table leg.

"Bella?"

"Mmm?"

"Maybe we should go to bed."

She sits upright, her hands on my chest as she looks around wildly.

"NO!" Her shout startles me. "It's nearly one o'clock. I failed. We failed. You made me fail."

"I did not."

"You did, too. You distracted me with those evil fucking magic kisses."

"Did you hear me counting down?"

"What?"

"I thought you went to bed early to avoid hearing the countdown?"

"I do. I did."

"Well," I grin up at her, squeezing her thighs where they straddle my waist. "I didn't make you fail, because I deliberately distracted you until _after_ midnight. So it's, like, been and gone – and you didn't even notice."

I chuckle as she contemplates my explanation.

"You're bullshitting me, aren't you?" she asks, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes," I laugh. "I had no fucking clue what time it was. I was just kissing you because I wanted to."

* * *

><p>I wake with a surprisingly clear head.<p>

Bella is still deeply asleep beside me, her legs tangled with mine.

Unmoving, I watch her dream. Her dark lashes flutter against her cheeks, and her red lips are parted slightly. She must have turned her face toward me recently – her cheek still bears the creases of her comforter.

Clarity finds me in this quiet moment.

I whisper the words, afraid that speaking them aloud will ruin them. "I love you, Bella."

She sleeps on.

* * *

><p><strong>Let me know your thoughts!<strong>

**Shell xx**


	12. Drifting Dreaming: Jan  March 2010

**Chapter 11: Drifting Dreaming**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The incomparable Tam is my amazing pre-reader, beta, de-Aussie-fier, sounding board, and cheerleader. I loves her.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Drifting Dreaming,<strong>_** The Waifs**

_**In dreams I've gotten in trouble  
><strong>__**In dreams I've made my mistakes  
><strong>__**In dreams I let my double  
><strong>__**Do the things I won't when awake**_

_**In dreams I've loved you so dearly  
><strong>__**In dreams I've told you so  
><strong>__**In dreams how you longed to be near me  
><strong>__**But when I'm awake you don't know**_

_**I must be drifting dreaming  
><strong>__**Wandering too far from home  
><strong>__**For a moment you gave me meaning  
><strong>__**When I awoke I was wrong**_

* * *

><p><strong>January 1, 2010.<strong>

When I awake again, Bella is gone.

The space beside me has cooled, but the smell of bacon frying alerts me to her whereabouts. If I lie still, I can hear her moving around in the kitchen, thumping and banging as she cooks breakfast and brews coffee.

It seems she has taken, along with her warmth, the clarity I had in the early hours of the morning. The calm that surrounded me then has drifted away, leaving confusion and panic in its wake.

I love Bella.

Do I? Am I in love with Bella? Or is this some passing infatuation? Am I confusing love and attraction? Perhaps this is just familiarity and affection? She is, after all, my best friend, as well as my lover.

How do I know if I love her?

Does it matter?

Maybe I do love her.

But …

But nothing has changed.

I am no more ready for a relationship today than I was yesterday. I am no less of a freak, no less fucked up than I was twenty-four hours ago.

* * *

><p><strong>February 2010.<strong>

I'm not sleeping well. Well, sort of. Some of the time, anyway.

The nights that Bella and I end up in the same bed, I sleep deeply. There's something soothing about falling asleep, our bodies entwined. Those nights rarely bring dreams, and I wake calm and refreshed.

The nights we sleep apart are restless. It's difficult to find oblivion, and even then, I wake over and over until morning breaks. Those nights, it's a relief to be able to drag myself out from under the covers. Work – routine, order – becomes a respite.

Frustratingly, we seem to spend more nights apart these days, as Bella's college career winds up. She has her head buried in her books almost constantly, and I resort to begging her to start studying at the kitchen table, just so I don't miss her quite so intensely. She complies cheerfully, particularly when I start plying her with coffee and my mom's cookies.

"Ooh, what did Esme send over today?"

"Um, they're like, white chocolate and … I don't know. Some kind of berry."

Bella takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Cranberry," she tells me, speaking through a mouthful of crumbs.

"You're all class, sweetheart."

She rolls her eyes at me, flipping me off with her free hand.

"How many times a week are you visiting your mom?" she asks. "I'm going to get so fat if you keep this up."

"All part of my evil plan," I tell her with a wink.

"Right. 'Cause you like me 'squishy'." Bella says it like it's a dirty word, but the smile twitching at the corners of her mouth belies her.

I just grin, and Bella huffs, turning her attention back to the pages of her textbook. I turn back to the sink, scrubbing out the saucepan I used to cook our dinner.

* * *

><p>"<em>Mom?" I call from the front door, as I let myself in.<em>

"_In the kitchen, sweetheart."_

_I throw my keys onto the hallstand, and kick off my shoes. I loosen my tie as I wander the familiar route to the kitchen. _

"_You guys got a new television?" _

_Mom clucks her tongue as she continues to scoop little balls of cookie dough onto baking trays. "No, your father bought a new television. I didn't want it. It's far too big."_

_I laugh, pressing a kiss to the cheek she offers me. "It's a pretty cool set up, Ma."_

"_If you say so." Mom turns to put her trays in the oven. "Funny that you noticed the television and not the kitchen appliances."_

"_Huh?"_

_Mom smiles, pointing at the shiny stainless steel oven, and then indicating the matching dishwasher tucked under the bench. "My new set up is pretty cool, too."_

"_Oh. Yeah. Uh, really cool."_

_Mom swats at me, giggling a little. "You wouldn't have even noticed, had I not pointed them out. Now, sit down and tell me why you're here."_

"_Do I need a reason to visit my mother?" I give her my best pout._

"_Of course not. But this is the third afternoon this week that you've come by. What's going on?"_

"_Nothing." I shrug._

"_How are things at home?"_

"_Good, I guess. Oh, Garrett and Katie got engaged over Christmas."_

"_Oh, that's lovely. When are they going to get married?"_

"_No idea. I don't think they're in a hurry – he practically lives with her anyway."_

"_I see. And how is Jasper? I haven't seen that boy in such a long time."_

"_He's good. He's, uh, he's sort of seeing someone."_

_Mom's smile is radiant, her genuine affection for my best friend evident. "That's wonderful. Who is she?"_

"_One of Bella's friends, actually. They met just before Christmas, and they've been on a few dates since. Her name's Tigg – I mean, Alice. She's pretty cool. Very energetic."_

"_Well, that's so lovely to hear. And how is Bella? I haven't seen her for a while, either."_

"_She's okay. I think." I sigh, watching Mom as she fills the kettle and flicks it on. "I haven't seen her much this week. She's really busy with school work – she's only got a few months left."_

"_Oh, really? What does she plan on doing after she graduates?"_

"_I don't know. I'm not sure she's decided yet."_

"_Is she staying in Chicago? Her family's back in San Francisco, is that right?"_

"_Yeah. Her Mom really wants her to move home, but she's not very enthusiastic about that idea, I don't think. They've been arguing a lot." Bella hasn't told me much, but I've caught bits and pieces of her increasingly strained phone calls with her mother. _

_Mom nods, her attention on the cups of tea she's doctoring with milk and sugar. "That must be difficult for her."_

"_Yeah. She's a little on edge at the moment."_

_Mom sits down, passing me a mug. I accept it with a grateful smile. We sip at the hot liquid for a few moments, enjoying a companionable silence. Questions are swirling in my mind, though this seems to be typical for me these days._

"_Mom?"_

"_Mmm."_

"_How did you know you were in love with Dad?"_

* * *

><p><em>Snap. Thunk. <em>

_Snap. Thunk. _

_Snap. Clink._

Bemused, I turn to watch Bella. She's completely absorbed in whatever she's reading, but her right hand is in constant motion. She's trying to spin her pen in a circle in her hand – completely unsuccessfully. There are four or five pens scattered across the kitchen floor, and another one between her fingers. I watch as she tries again, her fingers flicking it around. She catches it, makes a quick note, and then repeats the action. This time she misses, and the pen ricochets across the table and lands on the floor with the others. Absently, Bella pulls another pen from the jar she has on hand, and begins the process again.

Pushing away from the sink with a smirk, I grab the pens off the floor. I slide them back into her jar, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as I lean over her.

"I'm going to quit for the night soon, okay? Just give me half an hour," she murmurs, her attention on the funny looking letters in front of her.

"What is that?" I ask, indicating the strange characters.

"Huh?"

"Like, what's that upside down e?"

"It's called schwa."

"What?"

Bella looks up from her book, giggling a little. "It's part of the phonetic alphabet. Schwa is, like, an unstressed vowel."

I must look confused, because Bella smiles up at me and starts to explain. "Like the 'eh' sound in 'taken'."

"Tay-ken," I repeat, trying to listen for the sound.

"You don't actually say it like that when you're speaking though, do you? Say 'she's taken my pencil'."

"She's taken my pencil. Taken. Oh."

"Right? You'll hear it a lot if you listen to Garrett speak."

I slide into the chair beside her, scooting it closer to her and tugging the page toward me. "So, these are like the funny little letters next to words in the dictionary, right?"

"Yep. They tell you how to pronounce the words."

"Cool. Can you write my name in these?"

"Sure." Bella's pen moves quickly, and I peer at the word she's written.

"That doesn't look too different. Can you –"

"Edward?"

"Yeah?" I look up at Bella, who seems undecided as to whether she is amused or exasperated by my sudden interest in her studies.

"If you're going to disrupt my studying, I can think of a much more interesting way for things to go."

I contemplate messing with her for all of two seconds. I can't bring myself to do it though, because the truth is, it's been two weeks and I'm desperate for her touch.

Reaching out to push her hair out of her face, my stomach tightens when she relaxes into my hand. Her eyes flutter closed as my fingers tuck the wayward strands of hair behind her ears, as they stroke her cheek and trace down the column of her neck.

"Baby?"

"Mmm." My hand curls behind her neck, pulling her face close to mine.

Our lips meet, our kisses hard and feverish. I'm drowning in this raging ocean of desire, buffeted by waves of need and lust. I pull her out of her chair and onto my lap, my hands gripping her ass and grinding her hips into my almost painful arousal.

"Baby?" she pants.

My lips are too busy exploring her collarbone to offer an articulate response. I groan, trailing my mouth across its dips and hollows.

Bella moans as my mouth moves up her neck, sucking and tasting her sweet skin. "We should … oh … probably move this ... ungh … elsewhere. If Garrett comes home –"

I'm on my feet and pulling her with me immediately. I'm far less concerned about Garrett's reaction than I am about the fact that our activities would be curtailed if he came home at an inopportune moment.

Ducking down, I hoist a startled Bella over my shoulder, swatting her ass as she giggles and squeals. Of course, she decides to repay the favor, gleefully grabbing and pinching my ass in retaliation.

"Your ass is cute," she tells me.

"Cute? No part of me is cute, Bella. Girls are cute. _Your_ ass is cute. My ass is not cute. My ass is very manly and macho and masculine."

Her little hands slide inside my jeans, grabbing hold of my ass, and causing me to jump a little. "No, I'm pretty sure it's cute." She squeezes again to emphasize her point. "And have I ever told you how much I approve of you going commando?"

"I don't think you've mentioned it," I chuckle. As soon as we're inside my room, I flick the lock on the door. It's almost pitch black, and I carefully set Bella on her feet, walking her backwards until we find the bed. She flops onto the mattress and I crawl over her to flip the bedside lamp on.

In the soft gold light thrown by the lamp, Bella seems to glow where she lies beneath me. I'm straddling her waist, my weight on my knees, as I look down at her. Her eyes are deep and dark as they look up at me – there is no trace of the mischief of a few moments ago in her regard.

"Get down here and kiss me." Her whispered words have my heart pounding – surely she can hear its erratic tattoo over the stillness surrounding us.

I shift my weight carefully, until our bodies are pressed together, until I'm resting between her parted thighs. I hesitate, my fingers moving to stroke her sweet face. "You're so beautiful, Bella." The words slip out, their truth carrying them.

She smiles a little, reaching up to rest her palm against my cheek. With our hands against each other's faces, our lips meet. There's something new in this kiss: a tenderness, perhaps, strange but wonderful. Something elusive that we can't, or won't, put into words, but that our lips seek to translate as they brush together.

We undress each other silently, allowing very little space between us we bare ourselves to one another. Once she is unclothed, I reclaim my position, hovering over her. My fingers dance across her skin, reveling in its silken texture. Words, declarations, bubble to my lips but each time I swallow them back, ill-equipped to deal with their heaviness. Instead, I speak with my kisses, lavishing them across every inch of her body.

Kissing and tasting, my mouth slips from her graceful neck, across the curve of her shoulder and down to her breasts. I linger there, suckling and teasing – delighting in her body's responsiveness. When my mouth finally reaches the soft curve of her belly, I can't resist telling her, "I fucking love this." Her belly is not flat and hard, and it's so incredibly sexy, so feminine – the way it curves and swells just a little beneath her belly button.

My mouth trails down lower again, and Bella's fingers weave into my hair, anchoring me to her as she gives herself over to me, allowing me to coax her higher and higher, until she falls, her back arched, her voice hoarse.

When I move back up her body, she greets me with a blissed-out smile and heavy eyes. She takes me inside her with a sigh. Our movements are unhurried, giving and taking, the pleasure building until we peak together.

Regaining control of my limbs, I move to shift my weight off her, but her arms tighten around my neck. "Wait."

I still, but prop myself up on one elbow so I can look down at her. Her dark hair is wild, tangled across the white of my pillowcases, her cheeks are flushed pink, her lips are a deep red, swollen with my kisses. "You're so fucking beautiful," I tell her, again. Because she is – and it seems, well, absurd to not tell her so at every opportunity.

Her fingers dance across the bare skin of my back, caressing and gently scratching.

"You're so good to me," she tells me, her dark eyes serious. "Thank you."

"Always." I push the damp hair off her forehead, pressing a kiss there.

I don't know how long we lie there, locked in each other's gaze. We don't speak, but our hands are in constant motion, stroking and caressing. Bella's eyes begin to droop, and I smile as her breathing deepens into a slow and steady rhythm.

* * *

><p>"<em>Mom?"<em>

"_Mmm."_

"_How did you know you were in love with Dad?"_

_Her eyes widen, and she tries to hide her smile behind her mug. I can see it though – even with her mouth hidden, I can see her smile in the way her eyes crinkle at the corners, and the way they seem to sparkle with joy. _

_I sigh, frustrated – not with Mom's giddy delight, but with the knowledge that things are so damn complicated. I cannot see how this, how falling in love with Bella – if that is what is happening to me – will bring anything but heartache._

"_Well." Mom looks away from me, her eyes seeing something in some other place, some other time. "Your dad knew long before I did."_

"_Really?" This surprises me a little. My parents have always seemed to exist in such harmony, that it startles me to know they may have once been out of tune._

"_Oh, yes. The poor man had to wait months before I clued in."_

"_Why, uh, why did it take you so long, you know, to figure it out? I, well, I guess I always thought that when you knew, you just knew."_

"_That was true for your Dad. But, I, well, I suppose I was scared." Mom reaches for my hand, squeezing it gently. "I'd been in a pretty awful relationship before I met Carlisle. My first boyfriend was quite a lot older than me, and he was … well, I guess he was abusive."_

_My stomach turns, hearing my mother speak that word. She shakes her head gently, her fingers smoothing circles on the back of my hand._

"_He didn't hit me – he never hurt me physically, but he was very … controlling. I didn't put up with it for too long, but it did rob me of a lot of self-confidence."_

"_So, you were … scared Dad would turn out like that?" I ask slowly._

"_Oh, goodness, no. Never. It never once crossed my mind. Your father is such a gentle and kind man. I knew well before I agreed to start dating him that he would never treat me in that way."_

"_So, uh –" I frown, perplexed._

"_I'm not sure how to explain it, Edward. I suppose, my experiences of relationships weren't something I thought of especially fondly, so I spent a lot of time thinking I'd rather remain single. It took me a long time to develop my sense of my own identity again, to find my self-worth. By the time your father and I met, I was convinced I didn't really want to settle down with anyone – I wasn't going to lose my identity to another man."_

_She takes a sip of her tea, a slight smile on her lips. "Your father will tell you he was already in love with me before I agreed to date him. We spent a lot of time hanging out, but I wouldn't let him call it dating. Eventually, I realized we were spending so much time together that we might as well be dating, and surprisingly, the thought didn't terrify me the way it once did. I knew him so well by then – I trusted him, he was the first person I'd share good news with, the first person I'd call when I was upset. So, I asked him out on a date."_

_I have to laugh – my parents' romance is so, well, _not_ what I would have imagined._

"_I'm not sure – I don't remember suddenly thinking 'Oh, I love this man'," she tells me, her eyes becoming serious. "But at some point, it did occur to me that I couldn't imagine not spending the rest of my life by his side – and I didn't want to have to. I realized I _wanted_ one facet of my identity to be 'Carlisle's wife'. That's not to say I wanted that to be the _only_ way I was defined, but I did want it to be a part of who I was, or am. It's similar, I suppose, to the way part of who I am is 'Edward and Lizzy's mom'."_

"_Uh, right." Do I want being with Bella to be part of how I define myself? What does that even mean? I have to define myself? I feel like I know who I am – but do I have to be able to put it into words? I do know that I can't imagine Bella not being in my life – _

_Mom pats my hand, reclaiming my attention. "I, well, I assume you're asking me this because of Bella?"_

_I nod, swallowing hard. "I think, uh, I think I love her, Mom."_

"_And this upsets you?" Mom frowns, probably trying to understand why I'm clutching her hand so tightly._

"_I don't really get what you're saying about defining yourself. But, I do know that the thought of her moving back to San Francisco makes it hard to breathe, and the thought of her being with another dude makes me all achy in my chest. I think about her all the time, and I miss her when I don't get to spend time with her. I love making her happy, and I'll do, I'll do anything for her. And when she's sad, I sometimes wish I could cry for her so she doesn't have to, and I want to hold her until she's smiling again. Is, is that love, do you think?"_

* * *

><p>As I watch her sleep, I have my answer.<p>

Yes.

That is love.

_This_ is love.

I love Bella.

* * *

><p><em>Mum doesn't answer me; she just gives me a gentle smile.<em>

"_And what do I do if it is love, Mom? How do I make her love me, too?"_

_She laughs, shaking her head. "Edward, sweetheart, you can't _make_ her love you. All you can do is tell her, and show her, how you feel."_

"_But, what do I do? If I do love her, that is. What do I do if she doesn't love me?"_

_Mom sighs, her smile becoming sad. "I don't know, love. I'm not sure how you deal with that."_

_I shake my hand free of my mother's, shoving it into my hair and tugging roughly._

"_I don't think she loves me." I tell my mom, my voice quiet._

"_Bella, well, she's been through a lot, son. Maybe you should just give it some time."_

* * *

><p>The question is, how much time do I have?<p>

How long do I have before she moves? Or finds someone else? Or simply grows tired of me, and this game?

Will she ever be able to love me?

I've always believed she could heal. Can she? Will she let herself? Does she want to?

I love Bella.

But I know instinctively that I cannot speak those words aloud.

I know she will run.

So I'll wait.

* * *

><p><strong>March 2010.<strong>

I've come to terms with the truth of those three words. I think they grow a little more real every day. The feelings I have for her certainly seem to grow a little deeper every day. And sometimes, sometimes I can convince myself that she returns my feelings, that this love, which seems to be overgrowing my heart like tangling and twisting vines, is not unrequited.

Kicking off my shoes and dumping my briefcase, I wander through the house, loosening my tie and looking for my girl. I'm utterly shattered after a long and stressful day, and I just want to feel her warmth in my arms.

I find her in the kitchen, slicing vegetables – even though it's supposed to be my turn to cook.

She grins up at me as I wrap an arm around her waist. "Hey, baby."

"How was your day?" I ask, ducking to kiss her cheek.

"It was okay. I got a lot of work done, so I'm all yours for the evening."

"All mine, huh?" I can't help but chuckle. "I do like the sound of that."

She sets the knife down on the board and twists in my embrace, wrapping her arms around my neck. She looks up at me, her dark eyes searching my face. "You look so tired."

"I am, a bit." I tell her, dropping my head to her shoulder. "I had a lot of meetings today."

"So you had to talk a lot?"

"Yeah. It was tiring, having to interact with so many people."

"Why don't you grab a beer and sit on the couch until dinner's ready," she suggests, her hands pushing on my chest. "It won't be long."

I pull back and make for the refrigerator. "Do you want a beer, sweetheart?"

"Sure."

I grab two bottles and pop the lids off, before handing one to her. I _am_ tired, but the couch doesn't have any appeal right now. I stand beside Bella as she continues to chop and slice.

"You don't wanna sit down?"

"Nah. I'll keep you company."

Bella shakes her head, but can't quite hide her smile. We don't talk much as she finishes slicing and dicing, before throwing the vegetables into the wok. The air in the kitchen is redolent with the aromas of ginger, garlic and chilli as she prepares our stir-fry.

When she hands me a plate, I kiss her cheek again, thanking her for cooking tonight. She waves me off, but I touch her hand once we're seated, waiting until she looks at me to speak.

"No, really. Thank you for making dinner. I appreciate it."

"That's okay. You've been looking so tired lately, Edward. I just wanted to make your evening a little easier."

The sincerity and concern I can see in her eyes makes that thing in my belly start up again – the good, fluttery feeling, not the tense, twisty one. It's these little moments that give me hope – that set me to wondering if my feelings are being returned in some way, however embryonic. It's these moments that convince me not to give up, not to despair of ever being loved by this woman.

I insist on washing the dishes, though Bella attempts to fight me on it. I stand my ground, sighing in frustration when she huffs and picks up a dishtowel.

"I'm drying, then. Don't argue."

When the kitchen is restored to it's pre-dinner order, I slip my arms around Bella's waist and pull her close. I have no agenda – I just want to hold her.

"What do you want to do tonight?" she asks, her voice muffled against my chest.

"Nothing."

"Nothing at all? Are you sure?" Her voice is heavy with invitation.

"Sweetheart – is it, I mean, is it okay if we just take it easy? I'm so tired. I just, uh, I just want to hold you." I hold my breath when she doesn't respond immediately, concerned I've crossed some invisible line in our arrangement.

She pulls back a little, studying me, her eyes serious. "Whatever you need."

An hour later, I'm wrapped around her, on the edge of sleep. Her gentle fingers are raking across my scalp, causing me to hum in contentment against her chest.

"Sleep, baby. It's okay."

I can't bring myself to say the words aloud, but I repeat them in my mind, over and over, until sleep claims me: _I love you, Bella. I love you._

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you to everyone who is reading, reviewing, favouriting, alerting, andor tweeting. **

**You're all so awesome!**

**Shell x**


	13. My Only One: May 2010

**Chapter 12: My Only One**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Tam, my lovely love - what would I ever do without you? You make _everything_ better, including my words. YMFC & ILY, JSYK.**

**Okay ... here we go.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>My Only One,<strong>_** Boy & Bear**

_**Cause I sold my spirit for your soul  
><strong>__**I felt it running through my fingertips  
><strong>__**I love you more than you will know  
><strong>__**And I hope you understand  
><strong>__**My strength lies in your hands**_

_**And oh, I wander  
><strong>__**And oh, I live in fear  
><strong>__**Cause when my shadow moves I shudder  
><strong>__**For the fear inside my heart won't disappear, no dear  
><strong>_

_**You took my only one, when I only wanted love  
><strong>__**When I only wanted love**_

* * *

><p><strong>May 2010.<strong>

"Ungh, Edward. That feels so fucking good."

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh. Ohhhh. Can you go a bit harder?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. Oh, yes. Just there. You're so good at this."

"I've had a lot of practice."

"It shows. Your fingers are magic."

"Mom's been getting me to do this since I was about five. She gets really bad migraines and Dad wasn't always around." I continue kneading Bella's shoulders and neck, my fingers working to loosen her tense muscles. "Tell me if I use too much pressure."

"Uhhh. No, that's perfect."

"You need to take more breaks," I chastise her. "Get up, walk around a bit, and stretch your neck out every forty-five minutes or so."

"I know. I just lose track of time. I mean to take breaks, but then I get so caught up in what I'm doing that I forget."

"How does that feel?" I ask, removing my fingers from her neck.

She tilts her head from side to side, experimenting, before she drops it forward and pushes her shoulders back a little.

"It feels so much better, thank you."

I lean forward to kiss her neck, my tongue giving in to the temptation to taste her skin. "You're welcome. I'm glad it helped."

"Oh! Edward?" Bella leans back in her chair, tipping her head back to look up at me.

"Mmm." I grin down at her upside down face, my fingers moving to comb through the lengths of her hair. "What's up, sweetheart?"

"Alice called me just before you got home, and she was wondering if we wanted to go out with her and Jasper, and uh, Emmett, I think."

"When?"

"Friday night."

"Yeah, why not? That sounds fine." I shrug. "It's probably a good idea – I've been a shitty friend, I've hardly seen Emmett since he and Leah split."

I bite my tongue, frustrated at my slip. I shouldn't have mentioned Leah by name. Bella's eyes tighten a little as she looks up at me.

"Sorry," I murmur, my hand moving to her shoulder.

She sighs, reaching for my hand, covering it with her own.

"So, how is Tigger?" I ask, attempting to divert her thoughts away from Leah.

Bella chuckles a little – Alice really wasn't impressed the first time I likened her to Winnie the Pooh's ever-bouncing friend.

"She's really good. You know Alice – I mean, I'm sure she must have her bad days, but I've never seen her on one. She's just so …"

"Enthusiastic?" I offer.

"That's one way of putting it." Bella grimaces, which makes me laugh a little.

She may pretend that Alice's hyperactivity bothers her, but in truth, I think she rather enjoys it. Whenever they get together the two of them seem to have Cheshire cat style grins fixed in place. It makes me happy to watch them – the Bella I see these days is very different to the shy, reserved girl who moved in without me noticing almost two years ago.

"Jasper seems completely whipped already," I tell her, thinking about the dreamy look on my best friend's face when I last asked him about how things were going with Bouncy Pants.

"Yeah, Alice doesn't stop talking about him. She's constantly telling me about all the swoon-worthy things he says and does for her."

I suppress my frown, though jealousy and resentment are simmering under the surface of my skin. How is it so easy for Jasper and Alice? How can he do it? Let himself risk heartache all over again? I mean, he got divorced in his early twenties – how can they get past their baggage so easily?

"Hey? Baby?"

"Huh?"

"I said, let's move to the couch. Looking up at you like this is going to undo all that work your magic fingers did on my neck."

Wordlessly, I tug Bella to her feet, and pull her into my arms. She relaxes into me, her head tucked under my chin, her arms encircling my waist. It's as though we were made to fit together like this.

"Maybe I'll see if Rosalie wants to come, too," she says, her quiet voice garnering my attention. "I haven't see her in a while, either."

"Good idea," I tell her, kissing the top of her head.

"You want to watch a movie?"

"Sure." I let Bella lead me into the living room. I collapse onto the couch while she fusses around, putting on a DVD and flicking off lights. She disappears into her room for a moment, returning with her comforter, which she pulls over us as she crawls into my lap.

"What are we watching?"

"_Bright Star_."

"Okay."

I have no clue what the movie is about. I catch flashes of color occasionally – though my face is turned toward the screen, most of my attention is on the girl in my arms. The warm weight of her in my lap, the sweet citrusy smell of her shampoo, the silk of her skin under my fingertips, the steady rhythm of her breathing, the way my heart seems to beat lighter when she's close.

I wake up, startled, a few hours later. The television glows faintly blue as the DVD symbol bounces from corner to corner on the screen. My arms are still wrapped around Bella, who is deeply asleep, her head on my chest.

"Bella, love. Wake up."

Nothing.

"Bella. Come on."

"Mhhhh."

"Sweet girl, we need to move."

Blinking, she swings her legs to the floor. She's still mostly asleep as she tugs at the corner of her comforter, grabbing my fingers with her other hand. She starts toward her bedroom, the bulky red comforter trailing behind us as we stumble down the dark hallway. She doesn't let go of her grip on my hand, so I climb into her bed with her, clumsily arranging the sheets and blankets over us. Immediately, Bella burrows into my chest, her legs tangling with mine. It takes me only seconds to fall back into a deep sleep.

* * *

><p>"Hi Edward! Bella! How are you? Oh my goodness, Bella, I love your boots? Where did you get them? They're so sexy! Jazzy, look at Bella's boots, aren't they awesome? They're so awesome. I want some like that, maybe in green – no, purple!"<p>

"Allie, slow down," he murmurs, his hand clasping hers and tugging at it gently until she sits back down.

"Oh, right. Sorry." She grins at us, repentant, bouncing a little in her seat. I've noticed she does that – bounces – even more when she's trying to be quiet, like the energy that wants to escape from her mouth has to be diverted elsewhere.

"Hi Alice," Bella giggles, sliding into the booth opposite our friends. "I'm great, the boots were a Christmas present from Edward, and, yes, they are awesome."

"Nice," Alice offers me her tiny fist and I bump it, snickering. "How are you, Edward?"

"I'm well, thanks. How are you, Tigger?"

Alice scowls at me, and Bella pinches my thigh, making me jump a little.

"What?" I ask. "I'll stop calling you it when you learn to sit still."

"I'm perfectly capable of sitting still," the dark haired faery-child argues, waving her finger in my face. "Rosalie, hey! ROSE! Over here! Hi!" She's on her feet again, waving at the blonde woman who's just entered the bar.

Bella catches my eye and giggles as I shake my head in disbelief.

"Hi guys." Rosalie slides into the booth beside Alice, kissing her cheek.

"It's lucky Rose doesn't get seasick," I murmur to Bella.

She looks up at me, bemused. I grin at her and start bouncing up and down on the cushioned bench, imitating the sprite opposite me. A loud snort escapes Bella, causing her to clap a hand over her face and flush a delightful shade of pink.

Alice narrows her eyes at me, and then does that _I've got my eyes on you_ signal – pointing two fingers at her eyes, and then at me. Bella and Rose dissolve into laughter as I try desperately to keep my face straight.

"In trouble with the women, Masen?" The familiar boom of Emmett's voice reaches me moments before his huge hand slams down on my shoulder.

"Only with one, man." I raise an eyebrow at Alice as she continues to scowl at me.

She looks away from me, and up at Emmett, her smile reappearing immediately. "Hi! I'm Alice! You must be Emmett. I've heard lots about you from Jazz. Wow! You're like, huge, right? How tall are you? You must be what – six-six? It's because of people like you that I'm so small. I'm barely even five feet tall, because guys like you are hogging all the height. That's not fair, buddy. You should spread the love around."

Emmett lowers his huge frame into the booth beside me, his eyes wide as Alice continues to babble away. To give him some space, I slide closer to Bella, pressing my thigh against hers. My body reacts immediately to the contact and I have to shove my hand into my jeans' pocket, adjusting the rather uncomfortable situation I've suddenly got going on. I force my eyes to stay above the table – my girl's got this gorgeous little black dress on, which means a whole lot of her sexy thighs are exposed.

Just to torture myself a little, I place my hand on her knee, and begin gently running my knuckles across the bare flesh, my movements hidden beneath the table. I hear Bella's intake of breath, and fight the impulse to smirk, pleased to know I'm having an effect on her as well.

"And this is Bella – you guys have met before, right?" Alice's voice permeates my consciousness, and I lean back so Bella and Emmett can look around me.

They shake hands and Bella smiles a little sheepishly. "It was quite a while ago. Hi Emmett. It's nice to meet you."

"And this is Rosalie," Alice continues.

"Hi Rosalie," Emmett grins, reaching for her hand.

"Uh, hi." The statuesque blonde flushes a little under his gaze.

"Emmett, man. You wanna jump up – I'll go order us a round of drinks." I nudge him with my elbow.

"I'll come with you," he offers. "What can I get for you, Rosalie? Alice?"

As I wait for Emmett to slide out of the booth, I turn to Bella, touching her hand. "What would you like to drink, sweetheart?"

From the corner of my eye, I see Jasper's eyes widen as the term of endearment slips out. Bella doesn't notice his reaction, her brown eyes are smiling up at me. "I'll just have a beer, please."

"Anything in particular?"

She shrugs, "Surprise me".

"Jazz?"

"Yeah, just get me whatever you get Bells."

" 'kay."

Emmett slings an arm across my shoulder as we head toward the bar. "How you been, man? It's been a while."

"Yeah, not too bad, Em. How are you doing?"

"Good, dude. You know, just keepin' it real."

We order our drinks, leaning against the bar as the girl readies them. We talk a little, but it's mostly superficial stuff. I realize, with more than a little regret, that I barely know Em anymore.

"So, you're still liking nursing, though?"

"Yeah, man – I mean, you have some really shitty days, but I fucking love it."

I chuckle – people are wary of his imposing size and the crazy dreadlocks, but in reality, Emmett's a pretty gentle guy.

"You get shit about the 'locks, man?"

"Rarely. Obviously, I gotta tie them back, but it's no drama."

Em grins easily, his eyes darting back toward the table. "So, uh, tell me about Rosalie? How did you meet her?"

"Bella goes sailing with her in the summer. She's cool, kinda shy."

"Yeah, I caught that."

"She spent most of her high school years at sea, cruising with her folks. I think Bella said she moved to Chicago, maybe two years ago, 'cause her Mom needed to be close to her grandfather or something. But yeah, she's quiet, reserved. I think she's still just getting used to living in a big city."

"Wicked."

Collecting the drinks that have appeared in front of us, we make our way back to the table. I reclaim my seat beside Bella and set the three glasses of dark beer on to the table.

"It's a locally brewed porter," I tell her.

"Sweet. Thank you." She brings the liquorice-colored liquid to her lips and drinks deeply. "Oh, that's good."

The night passes quickly, as we laugh and catch up, taking turns at clambering across the bench seats to buy further rounds of drinks. Alice and Emmett, the extroverts among us, keep the conversation running at all times. They quickly develop an easy camaraderie between them, teasing and joking around, and swiftly filling the silences that occasionally fall.

Bella is quiet, but that's not unusual. She smiles and laughs, but doesn't really insert herself into the conversation very often. However, with each beer, her cheeks get pinker, and her hands grow bolder. After she brushes her knuckles across my groin for the third time, I capture her hand, squeezing it in admonishment. Keeping her eyes fixed on the conversation as it bounces between Emmett, Alice and Rose, she places my hand on her knee and begins to inch it up her thigh.

My fingers toy with the hem of her dress, sliding beneath it a few times. With her elbows on the table, she scoots forward slightly, so her ass rests on the very edge of her seat. When she parts her knees in invitation, I can't resist, my fingers moving under her dress. I nearly swallow my tongue when I encounter the damp cotton between her thighs.

I snatch my hand away before I lose all self-control. I lean toward her, my voice low as I speak into her ear. "We need to go. And soon."

"Now," she breathes, her words hot against my ear.

"Bella, I can't stand up right now. Can you please behave, just until we get to the car?"

"Nope," she giggles, squeezing my thigh.

I sigh. "Give me your bag and your coat, then."

As we slide out of our seats and say our goodbyes, I clutch Bella's crap in front of me until we escape the bar. As soon as we are outside, I take her hand and hurry her back to the car. I open her door, but grab her before she can slide into her seat. Pressing her up against the rear passenger door, I kiss her soundly, my hips grinding against her as I swallow her whimpers.

I pull back, breathing heavily, and stumble around to open my own door. I drive on autopilot, barely aware of the traffic or our route. Half my attention is on the heaving of Bella's chest, the way she's wriggling around in her seat, rubbing her thighs together, her little fists clenching in her lap.

As soon as we're inside, we become a writhing mass of tangled limbs, gasps and whimpers filling the quiet house in the brief moments we allow our lips to part. We make it as far as the dining table before I completely lose my head. My hands find their way back under Bella's short dress, tugging her black cotton shorty-things down her legs. I pull them off roughly, not caring that I'm probably stretching the fuck out of them as I wrestle them off her, without removing those ridiculously sexy red boots.

Her hands dart to the fly of my jeans, unfastening the buttons and pushing them down desperately. I groan in painful need; lifting her on to the table, pushing her dress up and filling her in a frenzy of movement. She cries out, her back arching and her boot-clad legs wrapping around my waist to pull me closer, deeper, harder. As worked up as we are, it's not long at all before we're calling out each other's names, our bodies shuddering and quaking with pleasure.

"What the _fuck_ is going on?"

Bella's eyes meet mine, wide with panic as Garrett's voice echoes down the hallway. The sheer fury in his voice has me cringing, my hand instinctively moving to cover my cheek. A punch to the face might be getting off lightly this time.

"You two, get yourselves decent and into the living room. Now."

"Give us a minute, Garrett," Bella calls, her voice amazingly steady. I look down at her in surprise. How can she be so calm, lying there, spread across the kitchen table, her legs still around my waist, with her cousin cussing and raging in the next room?

"Fuck." Garrett is thumping around in the living room and I cringe at the thuds resounding from the other room.

"He's just chucking my books off the coffee table." Bella whispers. "It's okay. I've got this."

"Bella –"

"Sshh, it's okay."

She pushes gently on my chest, and I step back, feeling the usual pang of loss as our bodies come apart. She sits up, smiling up at me as she tucks me back into my jeans and refastens them. I gather up her panties from where I tossed them, as she jumps off the table. She grimaces a little as she steps into them, her eyes soft as she watches me slide them up her legs.

"Edward, wait. Before we go in there …"

I take her hand, giving her my full attention. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

"I'm fine, baby. But listen to me, okay? He's not my father. I'm a grown woman, and I make my own decisions. Can you – well, I need you to respect that, too. Okay? I wanted this. We wanted this. So, yeah, it sucks he had to hear us, and I'll probably never be able to look him in the eye again, but we've done nothing wrong."

I pause, considering Bella's words. My instinct is to apologize to Garrett, and probably let him browbeat me into unthinkingly promising to keep my hands off his cousin. It would be bullshit, though. I'll gladly choose his fists over ending this – whatever _this_ is – with Bella.

"Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," I confirm. "You're right. I won't apologize for this, and I won't be bullied into anything either."

Bella wraps her arms around me, and I hold her close. The cloying scents of sweat and sex hang heavy in the air as we embrace, gathering our resolve.

We enter the living room hand in hand – a display of unison that is not lost on Garrett. He frowns down at our hands, his blue eyes dark with anger.

"I can't believe this," he spits.

"Garrett. Sit down and shut up." Bella's voice is calm and cold.

His eyes widen as he processes her tone, and he slumps into an armchair, folding his arms across his chest.

"Before we have this conversation Garrett, I want to make something very clear. I am an adult, and you will treat me as such. I make my own decisions and you will respect them. Are we clear?"

"Bella –"

"Are we clear, Garrett?"

"Bella, he's a … well, he's a fucking slut. You –" his attention turns to me, his voice growing venomous " – you gave me your word when she first moved in that you wouldn't fuck her."

"Garrett –"

"Both of you. Shut up!"

Our mouths snap closed at Bella's shout.

"Garrett, I'm only going to say this once. You are my cousin, not my father. I do not need your permission to sleep with Edward, and I don't care what ridiculous spiel Mom and Aunty Maggie spun you – I do not need to be babysat." She sighs, her tone softening. "Look, I _am_ sorry that you overheard us. That was thoughtless and inconsiderate of us, though in our defense, you haven't spent one night at home in the last month."

"But –"

"No. That's it, Garrett. I appreciate your concern, okay? But I'm fine, and I don't need to explain myself to you."

His mouth opens and closes a few times, and I see the moment he gives in, recognizing she will not be swayed.

"Fine," he snaps, getting to his feet. "Don't say I didn't warn you when he breaks your heart."

My fists clench. Frustration roils in my gut, and I'm tempted to slam my fist into his mouth. He stalks from the room before I gather my wits.

"Hey, baby. Look at me."

I swallow hard, before forcing my eyes to meet Bella's. I expect to see judgment, or at least wariness, after Garrett's outburst. But all I find in her golden-brown gaze is warmth and concern.

"I'm not a slut," I blurt out.

"I never believed you were. I've been living here for nearly two years, Edward. And I know that in that time you've only been with me. Can I ask, though –" her voice is quiet, cautious, "– why Garrett said that?"

I sigh. "I'm not a slut. I've slept with, um, f-five women. I lost my virginity to Tanya – you've met her a few times. We were sixteen, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. Everyone else was doing it, you know? Then, in my first year of college, I dated Heidi for six months. We actually never slept together, even though we were kind of serious. But, I, uh, I went through a shitty time after we broke up. I did some … stupid things. Garrett and I still didn't know each other very well, I hadn't been living here long, and I had spent most of my time with Heidi. But he … saw me … acting out, I guess. I, well, I brought home two different girls on two consecutive nights. It was stupid, and I regret it, but it was a long time ago. Garrett made some assumptions after that. Even though I didn't date or sleep with anyone for a long time after, he just got it into his head that I was this guy who just went around having one night stands – using and discarding women. I don't know, I never really bothered trying to correct him, but I thought he'd figure out that wasn't who I am after months – years – of not having any girls over. I guess not."

Bella takes my hand – her touch is soothing. "Hey, it's okay. Go on."

"There was one other girl. I don't even know her name – she had bright red hair. I don't remember sleeping with her, but I woke up with her in my bed, so I assume I did. That was the worst. I had to go get fucking blood tests and shit, because I had no idea if we'd been safe."

"I've slept with three guys, Edward. Do you think I'm a slut?"

I frown at her. "Of course not"

"One of them was a one night stand in a foreign country, with a guy who didn't speak English."

"Uh." I don't know what I'm supposed to say.

"Baby, my point is … I guess – none of that really matters. Okay? That was then, it's, well … it's not _now_. Now, you are an amazing guy, Edward."

"Bella –"

"Shush! Let me finish. You don't need to carry guilt over mistakes you made years ago. You're so generous and caring, and you've never been anything but a total sweetheart to me. I, well – you're my best friend, okay? You, you're … just a fucking awesome guy. Really, baby. You're the greatest guy I know. And nothing Garrett – or anybody else – says is going to change that."

Garrett. I sigh wearily at the mention of his name. I tell myself that he's just lashing out, that he's just trying to protect Bella. I can't hold his cruel words against him, because I understand his desire to protect her. He thinks he's looking out for her, and I won't begrudge him that.

"Come on, let's go to bed." Bella tugs on my hand a little.

I hesitate. "Are you sure you want to – you know, sleep in the same bed tonight? After everything?"

Bella's eyes are soft as she looks up at me. "Yes, Edward. I'm sure."

* * *

><p>A week before Bella is due to finish up college forever, my world falls apart.<p>

It's pretty late when we pull up at home. We've spent the evening with Alice and Jasper, Emmett and Rose, having headed out for dinner after Rose and Bella finished sailing for the day.

Bella's cheeks are kissed pink by the summer sun, and her limbs are starting to darken from the time she's been spending soaking up its rays. Her hair smells like salt and freedom, and her skin is still warm as I tuck her under my shoulder.

"Sleep?" I ask her. I'm tired myself, and I just want to hold her tonight.

She hums in agreement.

"Do you need to shower, sweetheart?"

"Nah, I showered at the yacht club," she tells me through a yawn.

"Your room or mine?"

"Yours is fine." She smiles at me sleepily.

"I'm just gonna take a piss, okay? I'll be there in a sec."

Bella just nods, another yawn escaping as she turns toward my bedroom. I take care of business quickly, eager to crawl into bed and wrap myself up in my girl.

"Oh, sweetheart –" I forget my question as soon as I process the expression on Bella's face.

She's standing by my desk, her chest rising and falling rapidly, a familiar pill bottle clutched in her fist.

When she speaks, her voice is hoarse, panicked. "Edward? What the _fuck_ are these?"

* * *

><p><strong>Ummm ... I'm just going to go hide for a while ...<strong>

**Shell xx**


	14. Weightless: May 2010 cont

**Chapter 13: Weightless**

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><p><strong>AN: Tam, I love you. Thanks for helping me write better, and smile more.**

**My thanks, also, to everyone who is reading, reviewing, pimping and tweeting. You're the best, all of you.**

**Here we go ... **

* * *

><p><em><strong>Weightless<strong>_**, City and Colour.**

_**Come close,  
><strong>__**Lay next to me  
><strong>__**Come close,  
><strong>__**Lay next to me  
><strong>__**I need to tell you something important**_

_**So stay close,  
><strong>__**Remain next to me  
><strong>__**I need to feel important  
><strong>__**It's your eyes that I don't believe  
><strong>__**And my heart, you will, you will mislead  
><strong>__**Do you know the consequence that comes with having such confidence?**_

_**Holding all the weight in my life  
><strong>__**Then you turn and you walk away from me**_

* * *

><p><strong>May 2010 cont.<strong>

_Edward? What the fuck are these?_

I'm not sure I will ever be able to forget the look of abject horror that overtakes Bella's face as her fingers curl around the little bottle of pills I left sitting on my desk. The color drains from her face – her normally pink cheeks are white, her lips pale as her tongue peeks out to wet them.

I grimace reflexively, hating the reminder that my brain needs me to dose it with chemicals to make it do its job. "My anti-depressants?"

"Yours …" The bottle falls from grasp, her fingers flexing as though burned. She turns away from me, then back again, panic and uncertainty written in her eyes. My hands reach for her as she stumbles toward my bed, but she waves me away. She collapses on to the edge, her head falling into her hands. "How long – Why – I don't understand."

Utterly bewildered, I'm on my knees before her, trying to make sense of her reaction. "Bella?"

"How long have you been taking them?" Her quiet voice is devoid of emotion, her eyes still hidden by her hands.

"Um." My hands rake through my hair as I try to work it out. "It's got to be close to four years, I think."

"Four years." Her voice carries a note of disbelief.

"Yeah. I think so. I went on them toward the end of my freshman year."

"The whole time." I'm not sure whether she means for me to hear.

"Bella?"

"Why?"

"Why am I on them? Uh, depression and anxiety." I sigh, shifting on my knees. I have no idea whether or not Bella is listening, but I feel compelled to explain. "Freshman year was pretty rough on me. I think I've told you before that I don't cope well with change?"

She doesn't reply; the slight movement of her head is my only indication that she hears what I'm saying.

"Well, moving out of home, starting college, starting a relationship with Heidi – it was all too much, and I wasn't really coping. So, I went to a doctor, and he sent me to therapy. I had some Cognitive Behavioral Therapy to deal with some of my anxiety issues, and that really helped with the panic attacks. But, nothing really seemed to help with the depression, and the medication became necessary … especially after Heidi and I broke up."

"Why did you never tell me?"

I shrug, before I realize she's still not looking at me. "I don't know. It wasn't like I made a decision _not_ to tell you. I just … I just don't think about it. I, uh, I take a pill every morning, but other than that, I don't really give it a lot of thought. It doesn't affect my day-to-day life anymore."

"Why wouldn't you tell me, though?" There's a note of accusation in her voice.

"I don't tell anyone about it, sweetheart. Because, really, I mostly just try not to think about it. It's like, I dunno, I guess – it's not that different to being a diabetic. If you're a diabetic, you take insulin, you monitor your blood glucose or whatever, and you get on with life. My brain doesn't make the chemicals I need it to. I take a pill, I monitor my symptoms, and the rest of the time, well … I just forget about it. I don't … I mean, it doesn't define me. I won't let it."

"Were you hiding it from me?" The strain in her voice alerts me to the fact that she's crying.

"No. Why would I hide it, Bella?"

"I don't know, Edward." She finally looks up at me, her eyes red-rimmed and full of hurt. "Why would Jacob hide the fact he was suicidal?"

_Fuck. _Understanding crashes over me like a wave, dragging me under, depriving me of breath.

"No, Bella – No." My hands reach for her, but she pushes them away. I search frantically for the words to make this right. I'm speaking truthfully – I don't dwell on my condition. "It's not like that –"

"Really? 'Cause I'm really struggling to see that it's not _exactly_ like that." I'm not sure I've ever heard Bella raise her voice in anger.

"No. No, sweetheart –"

"He didn't want me to know. Leah didn't want me to know. And you … You're my best fucking friend, Edward."

The hurt in her voice, the pain in her eyes, they're like a knife to the heart.

"I trusted you, for fuck's sake. I've shared with you every secret, every fear, every hurt. And it never occurred to you that this might be something I should know? Do I seem that pathetic? That weak? Poor Bella can't be trusted with these things? Did you think – what, that I couldn't understand? That I'm 'too nice, too sheltered' to be able to deal with the truth?"

Bella spits Leah's words in my face, and my heart aches for her. I have done this. I have made her feel like this.

"It's not that, honestly. I'm so sorry, love. It's just – it's never really come up. Well, it did, but we were drunk and –"

"That's why you hate being called a freak?" Compassion flickers across her gaze briefly.

I swallow hard. "Heidi. She would call me a f-freak. You know, if I had a panic attack, or when she, uh, saw me cry."

"Is that why you didn't tell me? Because you thought I'd call you a freak? Because you think I'm like her?"

"No, Bella. _Fuck._ You're nothing like Heidi. You've never once looked at me the way she did. Like, I'm … pathetic or that I disgust you." Never once, until right now. "I'm telling you, it just never crossed my mind to bring it up."

"You didn't want me to know."

I push up on to my knees, desperation driving me. I need to make her understand, I need to tell her. Now.

"That's not true. I want you to know everything about me, Bella. I –" I take a breath, before I plunge on, handing my heart over to her, "– I love you."

"Don't say that." I don't see her lips move, but the words hang in the air, their sharpness stinging as truly as if she'd slapped me. The ache in my chest flares, intensifying with her quick dismissal of my words.

"Listen to me. I love you –"

"I said, don't say that!" Bella's voice is angry, hard.

Tears sting the corner of my eyes, but I blink them back fiercely.

"Please, just listen. I love you. This game we've been playing – it's not a game to me. Not anymore. It hasn't been for six months. Hell, I'm not sure it ever was. I was scared to tell you. I mean, I know we agreed we didn't want relationships. I didn't _want_ to fall in love … ever. I, I didn't mean to fall in love with you. But I did. And I want this – I want _us_ to be real. I love you. So much."

It's in this moment that I lose her. I see her gold-brown eyes harden and grow cold. The defenses that she's slowly lowered over our months of friendship slam back into place in an instant. It sucks the air from my lungs, constricting my chest, watching her shut me out.

Determined to make her understand, I press my lips to hers, but she pushes hard against my chest, forcing me away.

"Bella." I'm begging, hot tears beginning to spill from my eyes.

I press forward again, desperate, sure that if I can only kiss her, then I can make her see, I can make her understand that I love her, and that hurting her is the very last thing I ever want to do. Maybe she will accept from my body, the words she doesn't want to hear me speak.

"No!" Her hands push me away again. There's less force, less certainty behind her shove, though. Am I getting through to her? Is she starting to understand the depths of my love for her?

"Even after I told you how much Jacob and Leah hurt me? Even then, you didn't think this was something I should know?" The fire in her eyes is dying, her voice is weary with hurt. She looks down, and tears start to spill from her eyes, splattering against her hands where they lie in her lap.

"It was never my intention to hurt you." My hand reaches out hesitantly, waiting for her to slap it away. She doesn't, and I inhale in relief as she lets me wipe her tear-stained cheeks. "I love you."

When Bella doesn't recoil from my words, I press my advantage. My lips meet hers tentatively, expecting her to fight me again. She doesn't. My tears continue to flow as her hands find my chest. I want to pour myself into our kiss, pour every ounce of tenderness and affection I can into it. Our lips move slowly at first, and I can almost make myself believe that she feels _something_ for me. Surely, surely there is some feeling behind the delicate way her lips caress mine, the way she takes my bottom lip between her own, the way her breath escapes on a moan when our tongues begin to dance.

Her little hands fist in my shirt, and the intensity of our kiss ratchets up a notch. Lips move harder, faster, tongues devouring. Her fingers are at my shirt buttons, scrabbling against them. I ignore the quiet voice that tells me we need to keep talking, that we have not made things right. Instead, my fingers copy hers, frantically popping open the buttons of her blouse.

Our hands tug and pull as we seek to rid ourselves of the layers of clothing that are keeping us apart. It's frenzied, fabric being ripped and wrenched away as our hands seek out each other's flesh. I can taste our tears, bitter, salty, through our fevered kiss.

I refuse to allow any space between us as we scramble on to the bed, barely even managing to tear our lips apart for long enough to gather the oxygen we need. My hands are grasping, grabbing, squeezing at Bella, and I have to force myself to calm them – I cannot, I will not bruise her soft flesh.

I don't let our lips part as my hand snakes between her thighs, stroking and curling, seeking her release with ease. Months and months of familiarity, of watching her every reaction, of seeking to meet her every need, means it's no time at all before I'm swallowing her cries of pleasure.

Unsatisfied, I don't slow my fingers, don't ease the pressure. Greedily, I bring her to the edge again, my fingers demanding her release. When she falls, again, and again I devour her screams, her little body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her.

Bella reaches for my hand, pulling it away as she gasps for breath. "I need you."

As if I could deny her.

I push the sweat-dampened hair out of her face. "Look at me, Bella. Please."

She complies, her golden-brown eyes spilling over with tears, her beautiful face severe with emotion.

"I love you." The words spill from my lips as she takes me inside herself. Bella answers with a sob.

The frenzy leaves my body as I move inside her. My movements are slow, purposeful – my declaration. Every thrust of my hips says "I need you," every kiss against her mouth says "I love you," and every tear that falls from my cheek to mingle with those pooling on hers says "forever, always."

This is not playful intimacy, or drunken horniness; this is not frantic release, or needy fucking. For the first time, I let myself make love to Bella. Can she feel it? Does she understand? I show her with my body, the truth I've been hiding within for months.

As our pleasure peaks, there are no moans of delight or screams of ecstasy. Instead, our completion is accompanied by choking sobs and tearful gasps.

When I slip from her warmth, uncoupling us, I am somehow less. I have left some part of myself with her, given something of myself away into her keeping.

Exhausted and drained, I grab a washcloth from beside the bed, making sure Bella is comfortable before I clean myself up quickly. The emotional upheaval of the night has me struggling against the heaviness of my eyelids, my fatigue compounded by the lateness of the hour.

As I lie back down beside her, Bella's dark eyes meet mine in the low light cast by the bedside lamp. The pain and regret I see in them strikes terror into my heart. I watch as she falls asleep beside me, as her blinks become slower and heavier, until they hide her eyes from me, and she sighs deeply in her slumber.

I lay still beside her, my arm curled around her waist. Bella mutters and mumbles, moving restlessly.

"Off." She pushes at my arm. I lift it away, the hurt shooting through me making me all too aware of the dreadful power Bella wields over me, even in her sleep.

I try desperately to fight off sleep, to force my eyes to stay wide and watching. I can't help but fear that if I close my eyes she will disappear, that she will slip away from me. Just as fatigue claims me, as sleep overpowers me, I realize: she already has.

My dreams are restless, tortured. Filled with emptiness and nothing. I'm searching, looking for something precious, something I want, that I need. It eludes me.

When I wake, Bella is gone.

I don't go looking for her this morning. I know instinctively that I will not find her.

* * *

><p><strong>Talk to me, my lovelies ...<strong>

**Shell x**


	15. All of Me: MayJune 2010

**Chapter 14: All of Me.**

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><p><strong>AN: Hi beautiful people! You've humbled and overwhelmed me this week with your reviews and tweets and recs. I'm so very thankful for every single one of you!**

**Tam makes my words better and my smile brighter. YMFC, bb.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>All of Me<strong>_**, Angus and Julia Stone.**

_**Is there a cure for this pain  
><strong>__**Maybe I should have something to eat  
><strong>__**But food won't take this emptiness away  
><strong>__**I'm hungry for you my love**_

_**Well I made it through another day  
><strong>__**In my cold room  
><strong>__**On scraps and pieces left behind  
><strong>__**I survive on the memory of you**_

_**All of me is all for you  
><strong>__**You're all I see  
><strong>__**All of me is all for you  
><strong>__**You're all I need**_

_**Is there a remedy for waiting  
><strong>__**For love's victorious return  
><strong>__**Is there a remedy for hating  
><strong>__**Every second that I'm without you**_

_**All this life is all for love  
><strong>__**It's the only road I'll choose  
><strong>__**And every street and avenue  
><strong>__**Only one will lead me back to you**_

* * *

><p><strong>May 2010.<strong>

She's gone.

I feel her absence as I dress. It's there in the emptiness that fills my chest as I button my shirt and knot my tie. It's there in the silent kitchen as I chew the cardboard in my cereal bowl. It's there in the echoing slam of the front door as I leave the house. It's there in the dissonance that surrounds me, pouring from my car stereo.

She's gone.

For a week, routine holds me together.

I do what I need to do.

I get up.

I go to work.

I sleep.

She's gone.

I know she can't have gone far. There's no way her over-protective family would allow that – not again. Had she disappeared, they'd be flying in from San Francisco, turning the city upside down to look for her. But there's no mad panic. No frantic phone calls. She's around. Close – but a million miles from me.

I call her number. Once. Twice. Three times.

"_Hey, this is Bella. Don't leave a message 'cause I probably won't listen to it."_

I don't leave a message. I don't call again.

She's gone.

Garrett spends a few days at home, his eyes full of pity and apologies. The fact he hasn't tried to land any punches is admission enough that he's in touch with her. That he knows he was wrong – that it was not _her_ heart on the line, after all.

No, it is not her heart that has splintered into countless shards.

She's gone.

* * *

><p><strong>June 2010.<strong>

I had already applied for two weeks vacation to coincide with her finishing school. We were going to see where the whim took us. No plans. Just two weeks of hanging around, doing whatever the hell we felt like.

But she's gone.

And now, I have no routine to keep me trudging along. Nowhere I need to be. Nothing I need to do. No one to hold me accountable.

I find myself walking to her bedroom. My hand reaches out, and I press my palm to the closed door. I can feel her absence in the cool wood beneath my fingertips.

Torturing myself, I grip the doorknob, twisting it, invading her space.

The air is sucked out of my lungs.

Her bed is still unmade. The deep red comforter still trailing to the floor, the sheets still tangled from our … what? From our lovemaking? From our ridiculous game?

What was real? What was wishful thinking?

Did she feel anything for me? Had I deluded myself completely, in thinking any affection for me was stirring? Probably. Maybe I was simply a convenient way to scratch an itch. Maybe all those sweet gestures – the trouble she went to in caring for me – maybe none of that meant anything to her. Maybe that's what she would do for any friend.

Or maybe – the suggestion is sinister, ugly, but persuasive – maybe she was just using me, and her kindness was simply part of the game she was playing.

Choking for breath, I crawl into her bed. The crimson sheets bleed with _us_ – I can smell it with each shaky gasp. The fragrance of her shampoo combined with my after-shave, her skin and mine. I pull the comforter over my head, blocking out the emptiness, shutting out the lack of _her_.

"Bella." I breathe out her name, desperate to conjure her presence.

It only makes me more aware of the fact she is not here.

She's gone.

"I love you," I whisper to all that does remain of her here: her scent, lingering like an apparition, a spectre haunting the room.

Surrounded by her fragrance, but overwhelmed by her absence, I break down. I allow the dam to burst, and finally, I cry, my pain muffled by her pillows, drowned by her blankets.

Who knows how long I remain entombed in these vibrantly colored sheets? The passing of time doesn't matter to me here. It's just the seconds, minutes, hours that she is not in my arms.

I sob until my throat is ripped raw, until the corners of my eyes sting, and I have to fight to keep my eyelids open, weighed down as they are by hours of falling tears. Until my face feels tacky and tight with dried salt water, and the stench of my own misery chases away the sweet smell of _her_ from the linen.

She's gone.

I drift between sorrow and sleep for an interminable time. This emptiness is exhausting.

Eventually, I tell myself that I cannot stay here, and I try to drag myself out of her bed. My feet are unsteady, and I land heavily on my knees in the darkening room. It's almost nightfall. Of which day, though? Is it still today? Is it now tomorrow? Or next week?

My voice has long since been used up, my cries growing hoarser and scratchier until I am left with only silence, my ability to rage stolen away, too. The tears, however, don't stop, can't stop, won't stop. I wonder if they will ever cease their flow. Every time I think they're finished, I feel the hot wetness gathering again, forcing its way, unbidden, from my ugly soul.

Too exhausted to wipe them away, I let the tears spill from my weary eyes. They leave painfully, hot and burning, and I feel them cutting like razors as they trail down my face, sliding under my chin, dripping to my chest, soaking my shirt. It's a feeling I hate with every fiber of my being; the sticky feeling of wet tears under my chin. It disgusts me.

I suppose it's fitting then, for I disgust myself.

Reaching blindly for her lamp, I flick it on, my eyes flinching against the golden light it throws around me. Dazed, I take in the state of her room.

Her wardrobe and drawers are open and empty. There are gaping holes amongst the volumes on her bookshelves. She left in a hurry. Panicked. Should I let that give me hope? Will clarity come to her in time? Will she realize I could never hurt her? That she owns me: body and soul, heart and mind?

When she has time to sit and think – to rehash our every conversation – will she understand? Will she remember every word, every smile, every touch; and will she see that I never meant to hurt her, that I loved her well before I knew what to call this all-consuming feeling?

The price of that hope is too high, I realize.

She may never be able to see past my illness.

If I were _normal_, she would not have run.

If my brain weren't so fucking fucked up, if I didn't need to rely on those fucking chemicals to function – what reason would she have to disappear?

Without those pills, would she have been open to the possibility of us exploring something "more"?

I don't know the answer.

All I do know, is that my condition, as I've always suspected it would, has rendered me unfit to be loved.

* * *

><p>"Hey bro."<p>

I acknowledge Jasper with a nod of my head.

"Here." He passes me a brown paper bag stained with grease. "You gotta eat, Edward."

I clear my throat, trying to lubricate it. "Thanks." My voice is still hoarse, though I have not broken down for two days now.

I pull out the food from the bag: a burger and some fries, and Jasper slides a milkshake in front of me. He pretends not to watch me as he pulls his own meal from another bag. I chew slowly, swallowing with a grimace – my throat is still painfully raw.

It's been two weeks since she left, and a week since I gave in to the despair and pain that was drowning me.

Garrett's been home almost every night since her flight. I don't know why, maybe he feels guilty for the accusations he leveled at me that night. I suppose the joke is on him … or me. Jazz and Alice – and Emmett – drop by daily, usually bringing food and pity and uncomfortable silence with them.

Tonight, though it's just my oldest friend, eating his burger and dipping his fries into his strawberry shake. It reminds me that some things, at least, are constant, dependable.

So when he asks, "Do you wanna talk about it?" I tell him that I do.

So I tell him. Some things he already knows, but some things he doesn't, so I start at the beginning and I find I cannot stop. He doesn't interrupt, and he doesn't ask questions, he just listens to me talk.

I tell him about meeting her, ass first, about the coffee and the oven clock, about our companionably quiet routine. I tell him about how hard she made me work just to drag one opinion from her, all those months ago, about how easily and naturally our friendship developed after that. I tell him about Jacob and Leah, and about Heidi and the Redhead. I tell him about our stupid arrangement, how we foolishly thought we could use one another as shields from love and heartbreak, about how easily and naturally our playful game translated into sexual intimacy. I tell him about how I struggled in her absence over Christmas, how the threat of her leaving after graduation forced me into understanding.

I tell him how I loved her – I love her still.

I tell him about how scared I was to tell her so, fearing she would run. I tell him about our fight over my antidepressants, and how she disappeared while I dreamt of emptiness. I tell him how I dragged myself through that first week, and about breaking down in her bedroom. I talk and talk, my rasping voice low but unceasing as I pour my heartache out before him. I keep only one secret from him: I do not tell him about her child. She guards that one so closely, and I will not break her confidence.

"Mase, man. I'm not – why did you never just tell her, you know, about your depression?"

I sigh in frustration, searching for the words. "I just … I don't know, dude. I just don't think about it. I tried to explain this to her. I mean, I take the fucking pill, and I get on with life. I don't dwell on it. It's not like I introduce myself and go, 'Oh hi, I'm Edward and I'm depressed.' _Fuck_. You know about it, 'cause you saw me at the worst of it. Same with Em and Garrett – you guys had to deal with me when I was a complete mess, when I wasn't functioning. But none of the rest of the group ever knew. I've never talked about it with them."

Jasper nods, looking at me thoughtfully. "Yeah, I hear you, man. But with Bella … I mean, with what you've told me about Jacob – I guess I can see why she took it hard."

"Yeah." My mind reels with her tear-filled accusations.

_I trusted you, for fuck's sake. I've shared with you every secret, every fear, every hurt. And it never occurred to you that this might be something I should know?_

I shake my head, trying to dispel the echo of her voice. "I never intended to hide it from her. I just – I just didn't even _think_. I mean, we almost spoke about it once, but we were wasted and it was New Year's Eve. She, uh, she called me a freak, just joking around, and I kind of flipped out, and when she asked I said I'd explain later, and then I don't know, it just never happened. It never came up."

"Shit." Jasper sighs, his face sympathetic.

He's quiet for a moment, before he continues, hesitantly. "Do you know, um, where she is? Have you tried to call her?"

"I tried to call her the day she left. She didn't answer. I don't know, man. I thought, maybe she just needs time. She's around, I don't know where, but I don't think she's gone too far."

He frowns at me. "How do you know that?"

"I don't know for certain, but her family is pretty over-protective of her. And Garrett hasn't tried to kill me, so … I don't know. I assume he's spoken to her."

"I'm sorry, man."

"Yeah. It sucks."

We finish our meal in silence. Jasper doesn't tell me what I should do, he doesn't tell me I need to move on or let go, he doesn't badmouth her. He's just here, when I need him to be.

* * *

><p>It's hard to make myself do anything at all during my "holiday." Merely forcing myself to get out of bed each morning has become a huge effort, and some days I don't manage it. I just want to sleep – for in my dreams I find her.<p>

Some days, my dreams are filled with deep brown eyes sparkling with love and delight. Other times, those same eyes overflow with pain and regret.

"Bella!"

My own shout wakes me. I scramble out of bed, looking around wildly. She was so close. I can almost feel her under my fingers – I can almost taste her, smell her.

Realization sinks in slowly.

It was just a dream.

She's gone.

* * *

><p>A random thought strikes me as I sit at the table, toying with a piece of toast.<p>

"Gar?"

"Yeah?" Garrett looks over his newspaper at me. He's going for nonchalance, but I can see the shock in his eyes. I suppose that's warranted; I can't remember the last time we actually spoke.

"Did you, uh, did you go to her graduation?"

He frowns. "Huh? Oh. Nah. She didn't go, hey? So, not much point, really."

"She didn't go? Why?"

"I don't know, man." He shrugs, shifting in his chair. "Mum said Auntie Renée was pretty pissed about it, but Bella's as stubborn as hell when she makes up her mind. She always has been."

He grins, watching some memory play out in his mind. "I remember when they came to visit one year. I think me and Bells were about five … yeah, maybe just before I started school. Bella might've been four ... Anyway, it was probably the first time I actually remember meeting her, hey? And right, Christmas is hot and sunny as fuck in Australia. Bella was furious. She thought Renée was taking her to have like a full-on, snow and reindeer kinda Christmas."

He chuckles, and I surprise myself by smiling with him. "She had a tantrum that lasted for like, three days. It was incredible. _Apparently_, I decided I wanted to marry her at that point. I think I was impressed by just how long she kept it going – I was like 'Dude! Why can't I keep a tantrum going that well? I give in way too easily!' But Mum and Renée explained that I couldn't marry my cousin – I was heartbroken."

He frowns. "Why am I telling you this? Oh, graduation, right. Yeah, I'm not sure. Mum rang me to say they weren't coming – 'cause Bella wasn't attending, and that's really all I know about it."

"Is she –" I hesitate, before taking a deep breath and pressing on. "Is she doing okay?"

Garrett sighs and closes the newspaper. He folds it carefully and sets it on the table before he meets my eyes.

"What do you think, Edward?"

I shrug. For all I know she's fine. Maybe I didn't matter to her at all. Maybe she's already found someone new. Even as the thoughts dance through my head, something tells me that they're not true. "How would I know?" I ask eventually.

"I think – actually, I'm pretty sure about it – you know her heaps better than anyone. So, even though you're angry and hurt –"

"I'm not angry." I interrupt him. "Not with her, anyway."

"Ah, right. Still, it's pretty clear now that you know her better than I do. I don't know – she was pretty upset when she turned up at Katie's. And listen, dude, I, um, I owe you a heaps big apology."

I take a sip of my coffee. Why is he apologizing? Maybe he thinks I meant that I'm angry with him. "That's not what I meant."

"What?"

"When I said I was angry – I meant I'm angry with myself. Not her, not you."

He shakes his head a little. "Yeah, I figured. But I still owe you an apology. For that night. I said some shit –"

Oh. "Don't worry about it," I mumble. "It's fine."

"No. It's really not. I made some assumptions about you years ago, and it wasn't fair of me to hold onto them for so long."

"I did some stupid shit, back then. I'm not proud of it."

"Exactly. It was stupid, but you regret it. You've never boasted about it, never talked it up. That's not who you are, and I should have known that. I get it, now. Heidi fucked you over, and you dealt with it badly."

I nod, my eyes downcast.

"And, it was years ago, and I know you haven't made a habit of sleeping around. I was upset when I heard you and Bella together, and I lashed out."

"It's alright, dude. I know you were just trying to protect her."

"It's not alright. I was wrong. You're not a slut. And I should never have said that. I'm sorry."

"Thank you for saying that."

"You, uh." I look up as he hesitates, his cheeks coloring a little. For just a moment, I see his resemblance to her. "You loved her, hey?"

"Yeah. I did. Do. I still do."

He nods, offering me a half-smile.

We say nothing for a while, until I suddenly remember something he said earlier. She went to Katie's. "She's at Katie's?"

"She was, just for, maybe a week? Maybe just over a week. Until she finished up with school, anyway."

"She's not there, now?"

"Nah. She took off, like, a week and a half ago?"

"Where did she go?" Panic begins to flutter in my chest. Has she gone back to San Francisco? Has she moved … _home_? Or has she taken off to Europe again? Maybe Australia … or Africa … or Asia this time? My gut twists at the thought. Somehow, if she has fled the country, it seems more final – she seems … _more_ gone.

The hope I didn't even know I was clinging to begins to dissipate.

She's gone. She's not coming back.

"Um." Garrett hesitates, his hand rubbing his jaw. He looks at me, frowning a little, his blue eyes searching my face. I don't know what he's looking for, but he sighs and drops his gaze. He taps the edge of the table a few times, drumming with his forefingers, before he looks up again. "She's in New York."

* * *

><p><strong>Talk to me, my lovelies ...<strong>

**Shell xx**


	16. Happy: June  Dec 2010

**Chapter 15: Happy.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Lovely readers, you've overwhelmed me this week with your beautiful reviews and recs and tweets! I am so very, very grateful for your support. You're all so wonderful!**

**And Tam ... I'm going to run out of ways to thank you! You are amazing, lovely love. I love you like I love _Sad Woman Blues_. Yep. THAT MUCH.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Happy<strong>_**, Ellery.**

_**It was a stupid mistake  
><strong>__**I've played it over again  
><strong>__**I felt it starting to break  
><strong>__**But oh what a storm we were in**_

_**Leveled us both with a crash  
><strong>__**You sped away in the dark  
><strong>__**And I've only driven me mad  
><strong>__**Replaying how we came apart -But**_

_**I'm gonna be happy  
><strong>__**Without you around  
><strong>__**I'll figure it out  
><strong>__**And I'm gonna be happy  
><strong>__**Just give me some time  
><strong>__**I'm gonna be fine**_

* * *

><p><strong>June 2010 cont.<strong>

_He taps the edge of the table a few times, drumming with his forefingers, before he looks up again. "She's in New York."_

"New York." I repeat the words softly, trying to make sense of them.

"I'm sorry man." Garrett's eyes are full of a pity that isn't making sense to me.

Something is tugging at my subconscious, and I shake my head, trying to understand the weight those two words seem to carry. This is not a random decision. This isn't her simply taking flight, and heading to the first city that popped into her mind. Why would she go to New York? What is in New York? _Who_ is in New York?

Understanding dawns on me, flooding me with a rush of conflicting emotions.

"Leah."

"Hey?"

I look up in time to see Garrett frowning at me. It occurs to me, again, that he may have no idea about what went down with Jacob and Leah.

I shake my head. "Never mind."

"Are, um, are you thinking about going after her?" He asks, his eyes wary.

"No," I sigh. "How the fuck would I find her?"

Relief flickers across his face, and I wonder if she asked him not to tell me where she was going. The thought hurts a little.

I can't help myself. "Did she ask you not to tell me?"

"Huh? Oh. No! No, she didn't. But, I think that she … well, she wants to be alone." There's that pity again.

"Right." I could choose to be hurt and discouraged by this, but … I'm not.

I don't know if I can explain exactly why – but somehow I feel, well, hopeful. It's a peculiar kind of hope: it's not the hope that wants me to believe she'll come back to me. This constant physical ache, this unending assault battering my chest – I keep thinking I'll get used to it, become immune to it, but I don't – the tightness is always there, with every breath. I still miss her, like she's taken part of me away with her. I still don't know how to deal with her absence, and to be honest, I don't want to.

And yet, I'm, I guess, _proud_ of her. I'm almost certain she's gone to New York to confront Leah, to try to get some closure. And sure, part of me – hell, all of me – wants to be there for her, to hold her, to comfort her, because it's not going to be an easy thing for her to do. It's a futile wish though, and it cuts me to know that maybe she doesn't want – won't ever want – me to be that person. Despite that, I'm just so fucking proud of her for having the strength to do this, to confront all the hurt she's been storing for so many years now.

And it's in this moment that I realize I have to keep moving forward, too. She thinks my depression, my illness, my condition, will what …? Does she believe that I'll choose to opt out like Jacob did? That I'll give up? Fuck that. I will not prove her right. I can't keep spending my days hiding beneath my comforter – or hers – and wishing things were different. I'm hurting, and that's not going to change any time soon, but I will keep moving forward.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to get over her, to move on. I don't even want to think about loving someone else. I'm not ready for that – I don't want to be ready for that. But I do need to be able to keep going. I need to … I need to prove, maybe to her, but mostly to myself, that I am stronger than this. I'm not the guy who gets dumped by his not-girlfriend and then curls up into a ball and refuses to live.

* * *

><p>Going back to work provides a relief of sorts – having to conform to a routine, having tasks that I need to complete – it feels good. I can leave at the end of the day, content to have survived another day without her. I fulfilled my obligations, discharged my duties. I'm keeping on keeping on.<p>

And yet, despite my constant self-encouragement – my constant reminding myself that I am stronger than she thought, that I am stronger than_ I_ thought – there are some days that just suck ass.

My birthday is one of those days. It doesn't start with her, with _Bella_ – I make myself think her name. My birthday this year doesn't start with Bella bouncing all over me, that fanatical gleam in her eye. It's hard to drag myself out of bed, but I do it, because Mom and Dad need me today.

"Happy Birthday, sweetheart." Mom throws her arms around me in a fierce hug the moment I walk into her kitchen. Her small frame and big hug makes me ache a little – I miss a different set of arms, a different embrace, acutely.

"Thank you, Mom."

"You haven't been to see me in so long," she whispers.

Guilt pricks me. It's true. I came over a few weeks after sh– after Bella left, and having to explain what had happened between us caused me to break down all over again. I sigh, shaking my head. "I know, and I'm sorry."

"I understand," she tells me, releasing me from her hold and patting my cheek. Her deep green eyes are full of concern as they search my face. "How are you?"

"I'm alright," I tell her, and it's true. "I still miss her a lot, though."

"Of course you do," she whispers, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Happy Birthday, son." Dad appears in the kitchen, and Mom steps back so Dad can shake my hand and hug me briefly.

"Thanks, Dad."

"How are you doing?"

"Alright." I repeat.

Dad gives me a sympathetic smile and claps me on the shoulder. "Hungry?"

As usual, lunch is a quiet affair, overshadowed by absence and loss. Mom pulls out a photo album from my first year of life, her eyes clouding over as we look at the photos of Lizzie and I cradled in her arms. Dad's hand finds Mom's shoulder, rubbing it gently as she sniffles quietly.

In those early weeks, Lizzie and I looked so very similar – we're only identifiable by the pink and blue blankets we're swaddled in. As I stare at our chubby pink faces, I find myself wondering – as I have countless times over the years – what Lizzie would look like today? I like to think she'd resemble Mom, light brown hair streaked blonde by the sun, shining green eyes, and a compassionate smile.

As I continue to look into my sister's little face, my brain does something really fucking strange. Weirdly, my imagination replaces Lizzie's dark blue eyes – the color it seems all babies are born with – with a very familiar golden brown gaze. I shake my head, trying to diffuse the image. It doesn't help, so I close my eyes, turning my face toward the warmth of the afternoon sun. A tiny girl with dark brown curls and steel grey eyes runs through my mind. She's chased by a little boy with golden brown eyes, his dirty blond hair flopping across his forehead. These strange but wonderful children, they terrify me and delight me in the same moment.

"Carlisle, can you take these plates to the kitchen, love?"

"I'll do it, Ma." My eyes snap open – I'm completely disoriented by the direction my thoughts have taken. I need to clear my head of these fucking crazy images that have suddenly forced their way into my mind.

"Nonsense, Edward. Your mother's been missing you terribly. You two catch up while I brew some coffee."

"Uh, can I have tea, Dad? Thanks."

"My coffee's still not up to your standards, I presume. Es?"

"Your coffee's perfect for me," Mom tells him, smiling up at him.

Dad chuckles, picking up the stack of dirty plates and making his way back inside. I push back in my chair, absently noting the vibrantly colored flowers that are splashed cheerfully across Mom's backyard.

"What were you thinking just now?" Mom's voice wavers, she seems nervous.

"Uh," I hesitate. Can I bear to tell her the bizarre images flitting around behind my eyelids?

"You don't have to tell me," she assures me gently. "You, well, you just looked so happy for a moment." Her concern shatters me, so I give her part of the truth.

"I was thinking, wondering. I mean, I often wonder, today especially, what Lizzie would look like now?"

"Me, too." Mom says, her eyes filling with tears. "Not a day goes by that I don't wonder the same thing."

I reach for her hand, cradling it in both of my own.

"I think she would have had your eyes," I whisper. Mom sobs a laugh, squeezing my hand tightly.

"You never know, love. Maybe she would've had those beautiful stormy eyes you and your father share."

I smile to myself, remembering Bella's insistence that my eyes reminded her of San Francisco weather. "Bella once said that they look the Pacific Ocean fog as it hangs over San Francisco." The words are out of my mouth before I've even decided to speak them.

Mom's eyes are wide. "Oh, sweetheart."

I shrug. "I always thought it was a really strange thing to say. But that's Bella for you."

"I'm sorry you're hurting, love."

"Yeah."

We sit in silence for a while, each lost in our own thoughts. I'm still confused and disturbed by the children my imagination conjured. I've never really given much thought to kids. I mean, I guess I've always wanted a family, but it's always been something blurry and indistinct in the realm of "eventually." So why the hell is my brain picturing these little "me-and-Bella" people? I mean,_ fuck_, it took me months to even accept the fact I was in love with the girl, and now my subconscious is what – trying to show me everything I've lost? The ache in my chest intensifies: somehow the thought that these children will never exist distresses me more than their sudden appearance in my imagination.

The clinking of china jolts me out of my reflections, as Dad reappears, juggling three mugs topped with swirls of steam. Mom squeezes my hand once more as he makes his way across the yard. "Don't give up hope, Edward."

* * *

><p><strong>September 2010.<strong>

As summer fades to fall, the weather is becoming colder, and Bella is never far from my mind. I find myself frequently replaying images of her in my mind's eye: her smile – in all its incarnations, mischievous, gentle, blissful; her thoughtful frown as she pored over her text books; that look of determination as she sought to convince someone to accept her point of view; her easy delight, standing on the deck of Rose's yacht. I remember the sound of her giggle, and I long to wake with it ringing in my ears – no matter the hour.

Distracted by my memories, I'm a bit surprised to find both Garrett and Katie in the kitchen when I arrive home from work one afternoon.

"Hi Edward." Katie's smile is warm as we exchange a kiss on the cheek.

"Hi Katie, Garrett. How are you guys going?" I glance at the table – it's completely covered with dozens of magazines. Wedding magazines, I realize. "Oh, you're making wedding plans?"

"Yep." Katie's grin is huge, though Garrett looks slightly overwhelmed.

"Have you set a date?"

"Yes!" Katie squeals. "March 12th!"

"Congratulations. That's what, six months?"

"Yes, we have so much to do!" Katie starts rattling off a list of plans that they need to make, and I can feel myself going cross-eyed.

"Katie, settle down." Garrett grins, slinging an arm across her shoulder. "But, uh, listen Edward, while we're all here … We, um, we need to talk to you about something, hey?"

"Sure." I sit down, looking between them. "What's up?"

"Well, I reckon it's best we tell you now. But, um, we decided – what with Bella not living here now – that Katie's going to move in here when we get married."

Of course. "Oh. Sure, so you want me to move out?"

"Shit, man. I'm sorry. I feel awful." Garrett frowns. "But –"

"Gar, it's fine," I assure him. "You guys are getting married. This is your place, anyway. It's cool, seriously."

"There's no hurry," Katie is quick to add. "You know, so don't feel obliged to move right away."

I nod. "Thanks. I, uh, I'll start looking for somewhere soon."

"Dude." Garrett's frown puzzles me. "I'm sorry, man. I feel really shitty to be kicking you out. I know this has been your home for ages, and yeah, I just feel heaps bad, hey?"

"You know, dude. It's fine. It's time." I intend merely to reassure him, but as I speak, my own words convince me. "It was always my plan to get my own place as soon as I finished college, anyway. I would have been gone, well, two years ago, but …" But I fell in love with Bella.

I shake my head. "Don't feel bad, really. It's all good. I'm happy for you guys, and it is time for me to move out, move on, get my own space. I, well, I'll start looking around."

"There's no rush," Katie assures me, again.

"I know. And, really, thanks for letting me know _now_, so it isn't rushed. I appreciate that."

I pull myself to my feet. "You guys want a beer?"

Later that night, I crawl into Bella's bed. As I stare into the darkness that cocoons me, I let myself explore the mixed feelings I have regarding moving out. On the one hand, I'm a little reluctant to leave. I don't want to lose the only remaining connection I have to Bella – the space she vacated. But at the same time, what is here but exactly that – empty space? No, it's time for me to move out and … what? I don't want to call it a "fresh start," because it won't be. It can't be. And I know that if I'm honest, despite what I told Garrett and Katie, it's not a matter of "moving on," either. I don't want to move on – not yet. Bella may have taken part of me away with her, but she also, however unintentionally, left something of herself with me: these memories that I replay day after day, night after night. And for now, I just want to continue to dwell on them.

* * *

><p><strong>early November 2010.<strong>

Finding an apartment is relatively painless – in part because Mom and Dad had apparently set aside some money for this exact purpose, and partly because I'm just not that fussy. I try to refuse my parents' assistance – wanting to do this on my own merit, with my own money – but Mom can be incredibly stubborn. Eventually, I agree to let her pay the deposit, but I insist on meeting the mortgage repayments myself. She agrees, on the condition I let her furnish and decorate my new two-bedroom apartment.

And so, I find myself settling into my new space as the approaching winter turns the air frigid, threatening snow. Mom creates a homey feel with neutral colors and slightly mismatched furniture. It's peaceful, serene – a sanctuary.

I make only one change to her décor, though I won't ever tell her about it. I take the dark blue and tan comforter she's spread lovingly across my bed, and fold it carefully, hiding it away in the top of my wardrobe. Feeling slightly queasy, wondering if I'm in danger of becoming unhinged, I unfurl the vivid red and oranges of Bella's bedspread and shake it across my mattress. Though I feel guilty for my thievery, I couldn't bear to leave it in her abandoned room at Garrett's. It's long since lost all trace of her fragrance – I do launder my bedclothes – but there is something so soothing in these familiar swirls of riotous color.

Slumping across the crimson and tangerine fabric, I stare up at the ceiling, my mind wandering this way and that as I attempt to take stock of the changes I'm making. The last two years suddenly press down on me heavily, suffocating me – it's all too much.

As soon as my mind registers the thought, those words, "it's all too much," my hand is in my pocket, rummaging around for my cell phone. I sigh as I flip through my contacts.

"This is Dr Banner's office; Claire speaking. How can I help you today?"

"Hi Claire, this is Edward Masen. I'd like to make an appointment to see John."

* * *

><p><strong>late December 2010.<strong>

**From Jasper Whitlock:  
><strong>**I'm running late, sorry E. Be there in 30 mins.**

"Fucking great," I mutter. I glance around at the already buzzing crowd and head for the bar.

"What can I get for you, man?"

"I'll have a pint of your red ale, please."

The chilled, rust-colored liquid is both bitter and soothing as it slides down my throat. I glance at my watch, sighing when I realize Jasper's still going to be another twenty minutes or so.

"Someone stand you up?" A cheerful, girlish voice startles me, and I narrowly avoid spilling my beer down her shirt in shock.

"Oh, uh, no. My friend's just running late."

"Oh, bummer. I hate when that happens." The girl smiles up at me – all white teeth and shining blue eyes. She's got a cute smile. Actually, she's cute, period. Those big blue eyes, her pretty face framed with ginger-colored curls.

"I'm Riley," she says, flashing me another grin.

"Edward." I can't help but smile down at her in response.

It's apparent quickly that Riley is a bit of a chatterbox – she babbles on, telling me all about moving to Chicago from Phoenix, what she's taking in college, her friends, her family and who knows what else. I find myself drawn in by her obvious warmth; she's friendly and open, and completely transparent. Within five minutes, I can see that she's easy to like and a lot of fun to be around.

I'm toying with the idea of asking her for her number when she drops the coaster she's been fiddling with. She ducks down to pick it up and bobs back up with a grin.

"Nice chucks," she snorts, giggling and rolling her eyes at me. "I don't remember the last time I saw a guy over the age of five wearing red shoes."

And with that, I've lost interest.

I guess she can see the coldness creep into my expression, because she starts to stutter and back-pedal. "I mean, well, they're kind of cute, I guess."

"Sure," I nod curtly.

"Hey." She reaches out, placing a delicate hand on my forearm. Her nails are long and bright pink – wrong. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"You didn't. It's fine." I know I'm being brusque, but I'm fighting the urge to flee. It's a huge relief to see Jasper's familiar frame appear, heading toward the bar. "Uh, my friend's just got here. It was nice to meet you."

"You, too, Edward," Riley says, her voice fading – I'm already in motion.

Jasper's warm grin slips a little as he catches my expression. "Hey, Mase – you alright, man?"

"I'm fine."

Of course, he doesn't buy it. "Uh-huh. You look a little worked up. What's going on?"

I sigh in defeat. "Let's get a brew and I'll explain."

When I do, Jazz can't contain his laughter.

"Fuck off," I tell him, flipping him off for good measure.

"You can't see how this is funny?" he chuckles.

"No, actually," I grumble.

"Dude, a pretty girl takes a liking to you, and chats you up. It's all going great, until she rags on your shoes? Seriously, she's probably thinking you're a prissy little ass who got cut up and had a tantrum 'cause she insulted your shoes."

"It's not that she insulted my shoes, dumbass." I sigh, my head falling to my hands. "It's … Bella gave me these, you dickhead. More than half her shoes were red – it was her thing, you know?"

Jasper studies me for a few moments, before he claps me on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, man."

I shrug his hand off me, shaking my head. "It's just, you know, I'm back in therapy, I'm coping. Hell, I'm actually doing really well now. And I meet a pretty girl like Riley, and I think – wow, she's fun to be around. I was going to, well, I was gonna ask her for her number. But then, something so … stupid … so insignificant, and I dunno, Bella comes slamming back into my mind and I can't even look at the girl anymore."

"It's not insignificant, or stupid. You loved Bella. You love Bella."

"You loved Angie," I point out, frustrated. "And now, you love Alice. Why can't I move on like that?"

"Do you want to?"

"What? Of course I do." _What the fuck?_ "Do you think I want to live with this ache in my chest? Missing her constantly? Feeling like I'm missing some part of _myself_ constantly?"

"Edward, man. Maybe it's just a matter of time –" He waves me off when I make to interrupt him. "Shut up. _Maybe_ it's a matter of time. Maybe it's not. But man, you can't date another girl while Bella still has that part of you. It's not fair – not to you, or to any girl you'd date."

"I know." I do, really – I can't date some other girl when it's pretty fucking clear that I'm still in love with my ex-not-girlfriend.

"Don't get pissed at me, okay?"

I look at Jasper warily. If he has to preface something with those words, the chances are, whatever he's about to say is not going to be pleasant. I motion for him to continue.

"Why haven't you tried to track her down?"

"Bella?"

"Who else, dumbass?"

I pick up my half-empty beer, draining it as I try to gather my thoughts. "What for? No, let me finish. I, well, I made it pretty clear how I felt, you know. I told her that I love her, and I told her I wanted to give 'us' a shot. She ran. What's the point of chasing her? She knows where I stand – what I want. She obviously doesn't want the same thing – I just deluded myself into thinking she felt something for me, too."

Jasper shakes his head. "I think you're wrong. She might not have known it herself, but it was pretty clear to the rest of us that that girl loved you."

My heart flutters a little, but I ignore it. The bitterness in my voice is clear. "Even if she does, she thinks I'm too fucked up to trust with her love."

"Maybe she's just scared."

"Maybe." I shrug. "But what am I supposed to do to change that? What could I possibly say to her to convince her that I'm not going to hurt her the way Jacob did? I mean, _fuck,_ I already_ did_ hurt her the same way, by keeping my depression from her."

"And you explained that to her. Maybe she just needs some time."

"Sure." I snort. "Well, if she decides she wants the same thing as I do – she knows where to find me."

When I return to my apartment, it's not yet late enough for me to want to sleep, and I feel completely purposeless. I unload the dishwasher, and then clean out the fridge, just to give my hands something to do. When I start contemplating dusting the living room, I swear under my breath and pull my coat back on.

I step out onto my tiny balcony, sighing deeply at the heavy smell of wood smoke on the night air. I lean against the railing, listening to the unceasing traffic noises, letting the frosted breeze curl around me. I stall, motionless, hesitating, my heart thumping wildly.

But, when my fingers start to stiffen and ache, and my nose begins to run, and my teeth start to jump and chatter, I surrender – heading back inside to confront the silence inside. I kick my chucks off next to the coffee table, and throw my coat across the couch.

I don't let myself linger at the door of my bedroom. Instead, I steel myself and throw my closet open. Reaching for the soft pile of navy and tan, I pull it from the shelf and dump it on the floor by the bed. My hands shake a little as I strip Bella from my bed one last time, folding her vibrancy away into a neat pile. I ignore the sting of tears in the corners of my eyes, resolutely pushing the crimson comforter into the newly vacant space in my closet.

My face is wet when I pick up the comforter Mom purchased for me, and the breeze it creates as I fling it across the mattress is cool. I smooth out the lumps and bumps, my hands running carefully across the unfamiliar colors and patterns.

"_Fuck_, I miss you, Bella." My voice echoes in the emptiness of my apartment. "I love you. Still. Maybe I always will, I don't know. But, I can survive without you. I can – I am."

* * *

><p><strong>As ever, I'd love to hear your thoughts, my lovelies.<strong>

**Shell xx**


	17. Brother: Dec 2010  Jan 2011

**Chapter 16: Brother.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Huge, huge thanks to all the lovely ladies who WC with me during the week. I never expected to make so many beautiful, hilarious, talented friends through writing fanfic! You're all wonderful. My lovely American friends by day, my awesome Aussie girls by night - I love you all!**

**Tam, thank you, so much, for the time you spend helping me develop both this story and my skills. You inspire me. Your talent, your passion for words, your friendship. I am so thankful for it all.**

**And the hugest of thanks to everyone who reads, reviews, recommends, tweets, favourites, follows ... you humble me. **

_**... deep breath ...**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Brother<strong>_**, Matt Corby.**

_**Sleep now under my skin  
><strong>__**Make sure you'll try to  
><strong>__**Conjure the wind  
><strong>__**And ease my mind**_

_**Ooh ooh ooh oh oh...**_

_**Somebody call out to your brother  
><strong>__**He's calling out your name  
><strong>__**Ooh ooh ooh  
><strong>__**Hiding under the covers  
><strong>__**With no one else to blame  
><strong>__**Ooh ooh ooh  
><strong>__**You couldn't help out your own neighbour  
><strong>__**You couldn't tell it to his face  
><strong>__**You were fucked up by the blame**_

_**You cower in the corner  
><strong>__**Confide in your father  
><strong>__**Let it out and say  
><strong>__**Let it pass away**_

* * *

><p><strong> late December 2010.<strong>

The holiday season isn't as hard as I anticipated it would be. I thought, remembering Bella's adoration of all things festive, that I would find it excruciating. But surprisingly, I find myself smiling as I string some lights around my balcony railing. I chuckle as I help Mom decorate her tree, memories of Bella bossing me around last year floating through my mind.

I'm surprised to find I can think of Bella and enjoy the memories – rather than them being a constant reminder of everything I've lost. I still miss her like crazy, and I still love her. I think I always will – in some way or another.

But she doesn't torment me in my sleep anymore. She still visits my dreams occasionally, but now she leaves me to wake with a soft smile, not with angry tears.

* * *

><p><strong>January 2011.<strong>

The sun is seeping through the clouds, bathing the street in a weak and weary light – a half-hearted attempt at brightening the frigid afternoon. I head into my building reluctantly, the thought of spending yet another evening alone exhausts me. I've made close to a dozen phone calls this afternoon, trying to find myself some company for the evening. Jasper and Alice were _occupied_ when I called – seriously, why answer the fucking phone when you're clearly bodily connected to another person? Emmett's taking Rosalie on their first official date, and Garrett and Katie are frantically trying to make alternative arrangements for some kind of wedding-flower-related disaster. Even my parents are too freaking busy to see me – they're off attending some stupid hospital function, and then Dad's surprising Mom with a weekend away. Everyone's busy. Busy, busy. Preoccupied with their significant other.

And so, it looks like my only company for the evening is a DVD and a tub of fucking ice-cream. _Shit._ Maybe I should just buy a cat or sixteen and be done with it.

I stomp up the stairs to my apartment, my mood souring with each step. The damn elevator is broken. Again. In a brand fucking new building? My boots make a rhythmic thump thump, each heavy step reverberating dully in the carpeted stairwell. The grocery bags in my arms are crinkling and rattling. When I reach my door, I juggle the bags for a moment, trying to extract my keys from my pocket, before I concede defeat and set them on the floor.

As I bend down, a square of white paper poking out from under the door catches my eye. My name is written across it – the messy scrawl is almost as familiar to me as my own. I blink, shaking my head violently. It's still there. My name in her writing. I look around wildly, stupidly, taking a deep breath – almost expecting to taste her on the still, stale air of the hallway.

There is a subtle fragrance lingering – but is it in my nostrils or is it merely a memory? Perhaps my brain is attempting to deceive itself into thinking it can sense her here.

I unlock the door with shaky hands, stooping down to collect my grocery bags. I step over the note, desperately trying not to look at it as I head toward the kitchen, leaving the door flung open. I try to ignore it as I unpack the groceries, shoving things away at random. I'm so distracted it takes me twice as long as it should – I keep finding things in the wrong place. I've put my cereal in the fridge, and my toothpaste in the freezer before I give myself a fierce mental shake.

When everything is finally where it ought to be, I have no excuse, and my body moves back to the doorway – drawn to the little white square like an iron filing to a neodymium magnet. I stare down at it, the innocuous square of white paper. Under any other circumstances, what would it be?

_Hi, I'm your new neighbor – I came to say hello but you weren't home. _

_Hey, I live below you – just wanted to let you know I'm having a party tonight. We'll try to keep the noise down. _

Neighbors leave notes. Acquaintances, people you don't know by name but acknowledge with a tilt of your head or a lift of your chin – they are the people who leave notes wedged under doors.

The girl you've been in love with for over a year, who you've been missing like a lost limb for six months, does not leave a _note_. I've seen the movies. She's supposed to pound on your door frantically at 3am, because she can't be without you a moment longer. She's supposed to pass you in the street – her mouth drops open and her heart leaps into her mouth and she tackles you in one of those hugs where you then spin her around and around staring into her eyes lovingly.

_A fucking note, Bella?_ Six months of silence and you leave me a note?

I should trash it. Ignore it. Set it on fire. I deserve more of an explanation than a piece of notebook paper shoved under my door can possibly contain.

But what _does_ it say? It's that thought that has me bent at the waist, the paper cold and smooth under my fingertips. Gingerly, I pick it up. My hand is shaking, causing the paper to flutter and vibrate. Without unfolding it, I close the door and flick the lock.

An hour later, the piece of paper is still in my hands, still unopened. I pace my kitchen, an open beer untouched, as I try to find the courage to unfold it.

What if she says she doesn't want me? That she's happy now? Is this her defense – shoved under my door, or a final goodbye?

I take a deep breath and flip the little square open.

My breathing stops. Tears fill my eyes. My barely healed heart cracks open.

_**I was wrong.  
><strong>__**I miss you.  
><strong>__**I love you.**_

The last three words are all I can see.

They are the words that are repeating over and over and over in my mind as my knees give out and a sob claws its way out of my mouth: _I love you_.

She loves me.

I'm ecstatic. She loves me. Finally, the words I have waited over a year to hear her say – right there, before my eyes.

I'm furious. She loves me. I've waited over a year to hear her say these words, and she carelessly shoves them under my door.

I'm devastated. She loves me. But, she's not here – she's not in my arms. Where is she? If she loves me, why isn't she here?

I can feel the tears crawling down my face, but I don't care enough to wipe them away.

I fold the note closed again, hiding away her words, her crazy sprawling handwriting. Immediately, I open it again, needing to reassure myself that I did, in fact, read her message correctly.

My body is shaking, unable to deal with the conflicting emotions coursing through me. I can't breathe. I set the note down on the floor beside me as gasps and sobs start to seize me. I drop my head between my knees, trying to slow my breathing, trying to regain control of my emotions.

I don't know how long I sit there, my hands tugging at my hair. It feels like each beat of my heart is compressing my lungs, and I'm dizzy, trying to swallow enough air and get my head around what's happening.

She's back.

Here.

In Chicago.

She came to my apartment.

She was here. Standing outside my door.

She left me a note.

She loves me.

Overwhelmed, I scrunch her words up. How could she do this? How could she be so heartless as to leave these words – these precious words – on my doorstep like a box of unwanted kittens?

Precious words. _Fuck_. I frantically smooth the paper out, trying to remove the crinkles caused by my sudden burst of temper.

Who cares if the words were left on my doorstep so carelessly? These are the very words I have longed to hear, dreamed of hearing for over a year, and I'll take what I can get.

Again.

And suddenly, I'm back to burning anger. I should call her up and tell her I'm over her. Done with her. Tell her I don't love her anymore, don't want her anymore. It would be a lie, but I want her to hurt the way I have. I want her to suffer the way I have, to cry over _me_ for weeks – until she has shed the same oceans of tears that have spilled from my eyes.

* * *

><p>It takes me three days to find the strength to call her. Three days of picking up my cell phone, then throwing it back on the table – too afraid of what I might hear should the call connect.<p>

My hands shake as I flip the note over yet again. My fingers tremble as I dial the number she's scrawled across the back.

I don't breathe as the obnoxious _bring-bring_ sounds through the speaker.

My heart thumps wildly as the call connects.

"This is Bella," her voice is soft, gentle, different.

"Bella?" I choke on her name.

Silence.

Panic.

"Edward." I hear the tremor in her voice.

Relief swells through me, drowning me.

Hope, that feeling I have all but banished from my existence, swells anew in my breast. I beat it down ferociously.

"I got your note," I blurt out, made stupid by fear.

Bella does not answer. I hear her sniffle before her soft sobs begin in earnest.

Somewhere inside, I scoff at myself, at the way my heart aches at the sounds of her misery made plain. Three days ago, I told myself she deserved to feel the same pain she had inflicted on me. I believed I would have felt a sense of righteous satisfaction in hearing her break down, at hearing her regret made plain. And yet now, confronted with the desperation and pain in her choking cries, my convictions are proved false.

I cannot bear it. I do not feel even the slightest amount of fulfillment in hearing her pain. I cannot delight in her sadness.

"Sweetheart, don't cry," I beg.

"Edward."

"I'm here."

"Edward."

"Bella, I'm here." I've always been here.

"I'm s-s-so sorry, Edward. I was wrong. I … I was so t-terribly wrong, and I'm so very sorry."

The words are out of my mouth before I even have a chance to think them through. "I forgive you."

I hear her sharp intake of breath. "No. You – … Don't. Not yet. Not until I've explained."

Her pain is almost tangible, I hear it in every labored intake of breath, and I know I'll do anything to take it from her.

"I don't need to hear it. I forgive you."

"No, Edward. You _do_ need to hear it. You need to understand."

I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear her justify disappearing in the night, taking off with my heart, and leaving me with only her absence for over six months. I don't want to hear her tell me why she _needed_ to leave me, alone and despairing.

"Not now. I can't. Not now." I'm shaking my head vehemently, though she cannot see.

"Can … can I see you?" Her voice wavers – she fears my answer.

"I don't know."

"Will you think about it?"

"Constantly."

* * *

><p>I do think about it.<p>

In fact, it's _all_ I think about.

"What's going on, dude?" Jasper frowns at me from across the table; his steel blue eyes fail to conceal his concern.

It's Monday night. Brewery night. Garrett's busy, getting his tux organized or some other wedding-related bullshit, but Jasper and I are huddled in our usual booth, have ordered our usual meals, while the usual soft jazz shuffles through the same playlist.

"Huh?"

Jasper sighs. "You've barely said a word since I sat down. Something on your mind?"

"Uh, I guess. Yeah."

"Is it –" he hesitates, "– is it Bella?" He knows me so well, too well.

I nod. "She left me a note," I tell him, my eyes on my untouched beer.

He says nothing, but I can feel the intensity of his gaze on me. He waits for me to continue.

"I called her. It took me three days to, uh, find the courage to do it. She said she was wrong, that she regrets taking off." I meet his eyes. "She said she loves me."

"That's good, right? I mean – you still love her, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do. I never stopped." My voice lowers. "I told her I'd forgiven her."

He nods, still looking at me expectantly. "Okay?"

"Six months of not hearing a word from her, barely managing to make it through each day. Aching. Missing her with every fiber of my being, and it takes me six minutes to forgive her. How? I mean – that's fucked up, right?"

"Is it?"

"Isn't it?" My voice sounds strange, pleading. I guess I am – pleading with him to help me understand my own mind.

"Do you want me to tell you that you shouldn't have?" he asks, raising a brow.

"What?"

"Do you want me to tell you that you shouldn't have forgiven her? Is that what you're hoping to hear me say? That she made a mistake – that she fucked you over, and you should hold it against her forever? Do you want me to tell you that you're weak?"

"Uh. I don't know," I admit. "Aren't I? Weak, I mean? For forgiving her so quickly?"

"What makes you think that?"

"She crushed me, man. She ran away. She confirmed everything I ever believed about myself – that I'm too fucked up to bother with, that my depression makes me unworthy of finding someone to spend my life with. She found out about me, and she took off. I told her I loved her, that I wanted to be with her for real, and she snuck out in the middle of the night."

"I know, man. And that sucks." I appreciate the sincerity in his quiet voice.

"Isn't it pathetic, then, to forgive her for that? To still love her after that? Shouldn't I want her to hurt? I mean, I do … A little bit." I sigh "No. I don't. I thought I did. But I don't want her to ever have to feel the way I did when she left. What the fuck is _wrong_ with me?"

Jasper takes a sip of his beer, and I get the feeling he is choosing his words carefully. "Forgiveness isn't weakness, Edward. Being able to say to someone, 'Yeah, you fucked up, but I forgive you,' isn't being a pussy. It's being strong enough to let go of your hurt, your wounded pride, and to move on – rather than bear a grudge."

I frown, trying to piece together what he's saying.

"It's not weak to not wish the same hurt on her. That's strength, that's huge. To be a big enough man to not need to exact some kind of justice, or … fucking, I don't know, not needing or wanting some kind of vengeance? That says a lot about you, man – good things."

He catches my skeptical look and shakes his head at me. "Of course, that's not to say forgiving her necessarily equates with you letting her back into your life," he continues. "Forgiving someone doesn't necessarily mean the relationship is going to be restored. I forgave Angie, but we'll never be close again. We may never even be friends again, but I've still forgiven her. I've let go of the anger and hurt, and I'm not holding it against her."

"What are you saying, Jazz?" My head falls to my hands, the thoughts swirling through my mind making it feel too heavy on my neck.

He sighs again, shoving his hands through his hair. "What I'm saying is – it's great that you've forgiven her. And whether you decide to take another shot with her is up to you. But –" he meets my eyes, his gaze unflinching, "– if you two want to make a go of it, for real, then forgiving her means you can't hold the past against her, Edward. You can't constantly remind her of this mistake, and, I don't know, _punish_ her for it. You can't hold yourself back because she's hurt you before. You can't be constantly waiting for it to happen again, or push her away just so she can't hurt you again. If you can't find it in yourself to trust her, to believe that she's changed, then you can't even contemplate it."

"That's –"

"Fucking terrifying. I know. But you need to figure out what you want."

"I don't know what I want."

"Are you sure?"

"No. Yes. _Shit_. I want her, Jazz. I want to be with her. I fucking love her so much. But, how can I? After what happened? How can I trust her? How can I give her that power again?"

He shrugs. "I think you probably need to hear her out before you'll be able to answer that question."

"But … even if she has a perfectly cogent explanation for why she disappeared, why she left me. How can I put myself out there, again?"

"Is she worth it?"

I don't answer. Of course she is.

* * *

><p>Now what?<p>

I need to call her. I know. I need to hear her out. I need her explanation.

But what if it's bullshit – flimsy and inadequate? It terrifies me that she may have no good reason at all for the devastation she's wreaked on my heart – and that I'll be weak and pathetic enough to take her back in spite of it.

Take her back … I laugh bitterly. As though she was ever mine.

For the second time this week, my shaky fingers hold my cell phone to my ear. For the second time, I hear her gentle voice, like the sweetest music after all the time.

"Edward?" I hear the fear, the hope, and the relief in her voice.

"I want to see you." My voice is harsher than I intend, my throat constricting with emotion.

"When?"

"Now." I cannot bear to wait a second longer.

"Should I come over?"

"No. Meet me at the coffee shop."

She doesn't need to ask me which one. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah ... <strong>

**Talk to me? Please?**

**Shell x**


	18. Breathe In Now: Jan 2011

**Chapter 17: Breathe In Now.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: My love, thanks and snuggle-cuddles to BelieveItOrNot, IReen H, dreaminginnorweigen, moirae and dragonfly366. **

**Peanut butter flavoured kisses and sweet delusions for MissWinkles.**

**Tam, you're my favourite colour. Thank you for everything.**

**...**

_***deep breath***_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Breathe In Now<strong>_**, george**

_**I see love and beauty all around,  
><strong>__**I also see the sadness that's embedded in your frown  
><strong>__**I wonder why you choose not to talk to those around,  
><strong>__**I sense a fear of lifting heavy feet  
><strong>__**Higher than you want to, I just want to believe your truth**_

_**You stand there but you do not cast a shadow,  
><strong>__**You walk away with every word you choose not to say  
><strong>__**I suppose that moving on paints a new colour for each day,  
><strong>__**I don't like to see  
><strong>__**Dreams put on the shelf, to deal with on that one day,  
><strong>__**I just want to be happy for you**_

_**'Cause I only have one second, this minute today  
><strong>__**I can't press rewind and turn it back and call it now  
><strong>__**And so this moment, I just have to sing out loud  
><strong>__**And say I love I like and breathe in now  
><strong>__**And say I love I live and breathe in now**_

_**I move on holding on to what I learn, it's time to let go of the notion  
><strong>__**That the whole world's against me  
><strong>__**Break free of shackles that formed young, time free in now  
><strong>__**And now I know, it's not all up to me, I can count on another  
><strong>__**So move on lighter and be free ...**_

* * *

><p><strong>Jan 2011.<strong>

The coffee shop is almost empty – few people are willing to brave the frigid temperatures of the late afternoon. There are a handful of couples around the tables, cozying up to one another, their fingers wrapped tightly around steaming mugs. Weak afternoon sun slides in through the window, casting a blue-gold tinge over the dark-haired figure huddled at a corner table.

_Bella._

My knees quake a little and I pause, drinking in the sight of her. I can feel my heart kick it's bass drum beat up a notch – it feels so loud that I almost believe she should be able to hear it from across the room.

Her head doesn't turn toward me, though; she continues to stare out the window, her profile backlit by the fading sunlight. I catalogue the changes in her in this unguarded moment. Her dark hair spills loose around her shoulders, it looks tangled and wild, and her mouth curves down with her frown. The circles under her eyes are deep and dark. She looks tired, lost … forlorn. That spark, her energy and mischief, they're gone – hidden or lost behind her weary sadness.

She sighs, I see the way her shoulders slump as she exhales, before she turns her head to look toward the entrance to the coffee shop – where I stand, watching her greedily. The moment our eyes meet, something, some kind of relief washes across her face. I recognize it, because it's the same feeling that loosens the knot in my belly. It feels _right_, being near her again.

She doesn't smile, but neither do I. Whatever I'm feeling it goes beyond good cheer. It's completeness, wholeness – recognition. I move unconsciously, dragged toward her by some magnetic force.

When I reach the little table, I hesitate – I don't know what to do. I'm desperate to touch her, to take her into my arms, to press my lips against her cheek – but I fear her reaction. I settle for lowering myself into the chair opposite her, while our gazes lock: gold to grey.

"Hey," she whispers.

I nod my head, swallowing hard – I don't trust my voice just yet. My hand, guided by my longing, reaches across the table – dodging the two mugs of coffee that she's obviously ordered – and squeezes her smaller one carefully. Her skin is cold, but she's _there_ – here –substantial and soft under my fingertips. My hand lingers a little too long before I pull it away, my fingertips still tingling from the first contact they've made with her skin for so many empty months.

She indicates the mug in front of me, and I nod my thanks, glad to have a way of distracting my hands. I take a sip of the rich and aromatic liquid, my fingers flexing around the mug. I grip it tighter than necessary – mostly to keep myself from reaching for Bella, to keep the longing to touch her in check.

We're enveloped in silence, but it's not awkward – it's expectant. At any moment, the floodwaters will breach their banks.

"You went to see Leah." I surprise myself by breaking the silence first.

Bella smiles ever so slightly. "Yeah. Garrett told you I went to New York?"

"Yeah."

"You knew why." She seems … relieved. She's pleased that I drew this conclusion – like it's proven something to her.

"I guess." I shrug. "I mean, it was pretty obvious."

"Only to you, Edward." The force behind her words knocks me back. As she continues, her voice wavers. "No one else knows, really. My family never knew about her and Jacob."

"Oh." As touched as I am by her confidence, her trust, it hurts me to hear that. Though I've suspected it, I hate knowing that she has carried that burden alone. "Was it, uh, was it helpful?"

She nods, though her smile is a little bitter. "I heard some things I needed to."

I wait, uncertain if it's appropriate for me to ask her to explain.

She sighs a little, tucking her hair behind her ears. "I understand a bit more now. Why Leah convinced Jacob to hide his illness from me."

She pauses, her eyes flitting to the window before she looks back at me. "It wasn't anything to do with me. It wasn't my weakness or my inability to deal with it."

"No?"

Bella inhales deeply, smiling sadly at me. "Leah was in love with Jacob. She wanted to, I guess, be the one who helped him pull through. She hoped that she could be the person he turned to, the shoulder he leaned on. And she hoped that when he was well again, he'd choose her. She didn't want to ask him to break up with me, she just hoped he'd, um, fall for her if she was the one who stood by him."

_Fucking hell_. "Shit, Bella. I'm so fucking sorry."

"No, it's okay. It was, well, a bit of a relief to hear, to be honest. To know it wasn't my weakness that kept him silent." She shakes her head. "Poor Leah –"

"What?" My mouth is working ahead of my brain. But, really – how can she feel any sympathy for Leah? Knowing this?

"Think of the burden she carries, Edward. Wondering if it's her fault – wondering if she is responsible for his death by not encouraging him to open up to more people. Yes, she encouraged him to seek professional help, but she lives wondering if things might be different if she'd encouraged him to speak to his parents, or more of his friends … or me."

I nod, wondering if she can read the awe I feel for her in my eyes. She's grown and changed, moved forward over the last six months. _Six fucking months._ "But you were gone so long." Accusation edges my tone.

She nods, her eyes filling. "I, uh, I stayed in New York for a few weeks, and then I went back to San Francisco for a while."

It doesn't escape my notice that she doesn't refer to it as "home."

"I lived with my Dad for a few months." She sniffles, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "The way I reacted, um, that n-night, I realized just how much of a mess I still was, how much baggage I hadn't dealt with. I … I went and saw a therapist. I wanted to deal with the past so I could look toward the future. I wanted –" she closes her eyes as the words spill out. "I wanted to be whole. I needed to be better, for me. I needed to feel like _myself_, again. I haven't been for so long. And I didn't feel complete enough to give myself to you, or anyone. I wasn't even sure if I could ever be complete enough for that. But, I wanted to try. To try to get better. To heal. As much as possible. For me, and also so I could give you my, um, my... everything, if you - if there was any chance for us."

"You didn't even call." I can't even think about what she's offering. I need answers first.

"I know," she whispers. "That was … a mistake. But I wanted you to have the opportunity to move on, if that's what you wanted."

"That's … that's not –" The bitter words catch in my throat. _That's not fair._

"I know," she whispers, wiping furiously at the water leaking from the corners of her eyes. "That wasn't my decision to make. It should have been yours and I'm sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing by you, taking myself out of your life, giving you the opportunity to move on, without me … To find someone else, if you wanted to. I was wrong to make that decision for you."

My head falls into my hands, my elbows pressing into the table. This is all too much. She's right – she was wrong. That decision was mine to make, and she took it from me.

"I'm sorry about leaving a note, too," she murmurs.

Her fingers brush against my forearm for just a moment. This time, my muscles contract against her touch, remembered resentment causing me to recoil. "Yeah. That pretty much sucked, Bella. Those ... those words were too important to be left on my doorstep."

I feel robbed, cheated. Her declaration of love should have been a gift; it something she treasured, that she delighted in giving me.

"I know. I'm sorry." She drops her eyes, her cheeks pink with her shame. "It was cowardly of me. I, uh, waited for half an hour, and then I sort of freaked out, thinking you might not want to see me. I should have, um, I should have just waited until you came home."

"I was buying ice-cream," I tell her, lifting my head a little to look at her.

Her smile is small but genuine. I watch as it grows, and a giggle slips out between her pink lips. I'm surprised when my own chuckle joins in. I shake my head.

"I thought about getting a cat … or a bunch of them." I tell her.

She snorts indelicately, then blushes. "Turning into a middle-aged woman, huh?"

"Exactly." I'd forgotten how she just _gets me_.

I don't realize I'm reaching for it, but my hand closes around Bella's, and I revel in the feeling of her soft skin against mine.

I look at her, my gaze becoming intense. She squirms a little, and I see the hope, the fear and the longing in her eyes. I give her what I can. "I've missed you so much."

Her lip quivers, and I squeeze her hand a little tighter. "Don't cry," I whisper.

"Can't … can't help it," she stutters, her breathing becoming ragged.

My eyes fill in response – the salt-water stings and I have to blink furiously to hold the forming tears at bay. "I know." I swallow the lump in my throat.

We sit, hands clasped, silent but for the gasping breaths that we're trying, somewhat futilely, to calm.

"Are you … are you back here, in Chicago, now?" I need to know if she's sticking around again.

"Yeah." She nods, understanding my question. "The day that I left that note was the day I got back. I'm staying with Garrett and Katie for a little while, but I'm going to get my own place as soon as I can."

"And, uh, what are you going to do?" She hadn't had any idea about what she was going to do when she graduated, and I wonder if she's made any more decisions about her future.

She smiles a little. "I'm going to go back to school, I'll train to be a teacher – I'm going to teach English as a second language. And I'll do private tutoring and stuff just to make some cash."

"Wow."

"Yeah, it was Alice's idea, actually."

"You've seen her?"

"No. Not yet. I didn't want to see anyone until I saw you …" She trails off, looking at me seriously.

My hand still grips hers, and I bring it to my mouth. "Thank you," I murmur as I brush my lips across her knuckles.

We both freeze, as a current seems to surge between us. Bella's wide eyes don't leave mine as I carefully push her hand away.

"I should go." I tell her suddenly. I need to get away from her, clear my head. I don't know what's happening, and I can't think with her so close. My longing for her overrides logic and rationality.

"Oh. Yeah, no, you're right." She fails to conceal the disappointment in her voice, and while it tears at me a little, it also frustrates me – what does she expect from me? I need to leave before I give in to her ... yet again.

"Hey." I catch her hand as she reaches for her scarf. "I need time. I need to think."

"I understand," she whispers. "I'm so sorry, Edward."

I nod. "Me too."

"Wait. Please. I, I have something else to say." She pulls her hand from mine, twisting her fingers together, and I watch her throat work as she swallows. "I am sorry for the assumptions I made about, you know, your depression. I'm ashamed of that, more than anything. I overreacted, I panicked, and I didn't listen."

"It's okay," I shrug.

She looks me in the eye. "No. It's not. Edward – I was wrong and I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking clearly … all that was going through my head was 'not again.' I couldn't bear the thought of burying another man I loved."

Her words hit me like a wrecking ball. My response tumbles out distractedly. "I, uh, should have told you about it." Somehow, I'd lost sight of the magnitude of her suffering – I remembered the cheating and betrayal, the miscarriage, but I'd neglected to remind myself that she'd loved Jacob, expected to spend her life with him, and he took that from her when he took his own life.

"I understand, though, why you didn't. My reaction kind of demonstrated it, huh? You shouldn't be judged or defined by it, and I get that now. I, well, I was ignorant, too. I understand a lot more about depression now, about how it manifests differently in everyone."

"I've never been suicidal," I tell her, my voice dropping to a whisper. I look at my hands. "Even when I was on meds that didn't really work for me. I was a zombie, but I've never thought about taking my own life."

Her delicate fingers appear in my line of sight, covering my hand. I look up, meeting her gaze with trepidation. "I know. I was wrong. I should have known – when I thought about it, I _did_ know. You're so strong."

"I don't know about that," I mumble, my mind recalling the days and nights following her leaving: the tears I shed, the difficulty I had getting through each day.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, bab–" Her cheeks glow pink as she catches herself.

I link my fingers through hers, just for a moment. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

Silence gathers between us.

"W-what happens now?" _Fuck._ The pain and apprehension in her voice guts me.

"I'll call you, okay."

She nods, and I can't help it – as I stand, I pull her to her feet and into my arms.

For the first time in over six months, I feel at peace. The bitterness and frustration fade away as I embrace her. With her head tucked under my chin, my arms around her waist, and her sweet fragrance filling my nostrils – I am home.

I can feel her shaking and crying in the circle of my arms, and I realize, as I bury my face in her hair, that my face is damp with tears, too.

"Come on," I whisper. "I'll walk you to your car."

My arm lingers across her shoulder, and hers curls around my waist as we walk. She seems as unwilling as I am to relinquish contact. We don't speak – the only noise is the click of her heels on the pavement, and both of our sniffles.

When we reach her car, we pull away from each other, hands finding pockets and eyes dropping to our shoes. Red shoes – my chucks, her boots. Wordlessly, she unlocks her car. Once she's inside and buckled up, I squat down beside her, the door still open.

"Bella." Her eyes meet mine, red-rimmed and fearful. "I _will_ call, okay?"

She nods, but I don't know if she believes me. I stand, and I'm about to close her door when I hesitate. Leaning in, I press a kiss to her forehead. _I love you_, I think.

"I love you," I whisper, as I watch her taillights fade into the darkening afternoon.

* * *

><p>Driving on autopilot, I'm not surprised to find myself turning up my parents' drive. I shut off the engine but make no move to leave the car. My mind is so filled with Bella, that movement and speech seem beyond me.<p>

Mom's knuckles rapping against my window startle me, and I jump in surprise, swearing as my heart accelerates.

She opens the door, her expression contrite. "I didn't mean to scare you, sweetheart. You had me worried – you've been sitting out here for fifteen minutes."

"I have?" I ask, blinking at her. It's nearly dark, I realize.

"Are you okay, Edward?"

"I, uh, I don't know."

"Come on inside. Tell me what's going on."

I follow her in a daze, letting her lead me by the hand, like she did when I was a small child. She pushes me toward the kitchen table, busying herself with fixing some tea.

"Edward!"

"Huh?" My head snaps up, taking in the mug of tea Mom is trying to hand me, and the concern creasing the corners of her green eyes. I take the mug from her, and give her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Ma."

"Love, what's going on?"

"I, uh, I just saw Bella. She came back."

I hear Mom's voice, but whatever she says doesn't register with me.

"I still love her. She loves me. I think. She wrote it in her note, but she didn't say it to me today. But then, I didn't say it to her either – at least not when she could hear. Maybe she was waiting for me to say it first. But I'm scared to. She was gone. For six months. Not a word, no explanation, nothing. Just silence and emptiness. She was gone for so long, and now she's here again. She just shows up, and what? I don't know … But she's back and she's staying and she's going to be a teacher." I'm vaguely aware of the fact that I'm probably not making any sense but the words just keep spilling forth.

"She went to New York. She went and she talked to Leah, and she's so brave. And Leah told her she was in love with Jacob and, can you believe, Bella actually feels sorry for her – for the guilt she has to bear every day because she convinced Jacob not to tell Bella about his illness, and then he killed himself. And I forgot that, Mom. I remembered about the cheating and the lying and the betrayal, and the miscarriage, and how she won't have a little baby with black curls and fat brown legs, but I forgot. I forgot that mental illness killed him, and of course that's why she freaked out about me. And I should have told her before, but I just didn't even think about it – but she gets it. She gets that I won't ever do that, and she wants me. She loves me. I think."

I stand up, my mind still spinning. "I should have told her that I still love her. What if she thinks I don't, anymore? 'Cause I do. So much."

"Edward, love. Perhaps now isn't the right time."

"But … I have to tell her, Ma. Six months. I've been without her six months, and I can't lose her again because she thinks I don't want her."

"Oh, sweetheart. I understand, but maybe you should give both of you some time and space, just for a little while. Take little steps."

Little steps. Take little steps. Why should I? Bella can take the steps, little or big. I put myself on the line, and she fucking ran away. She's the one who put the distance between us – she's going to have to be the one to close it. But what if she can't, or won't? Hope spills from me, spinning away like an untied balloon. If she can't, or won't – then we can't be together.

"I don't know what to do, Ma." I look down at the table, my hands spread across the dark wood. I slump back into my chair, exhausted.

Mom's hand finds my shoulder, soothing gentle circles across my back. My hands move to support my head against the heavy swirl of emotion and confusion that threatens to overwhelm me.

"I can't tell you what to do, sweetheart. I wish I knew, but I don't. What do you, well, what do you hope to see happen?"

It takes me several minutes to formulate an answer. "I want Bella to be happy. That's what I want, most of all. I want whatever is good for her. And, I guess, _I_ want to be good for her."

* * *

><p><strong>I love hearing from you all ...<strong>

**Shell xx**


	19. If I Had a Boat: Jan 2011 cont

**Chapter 18: If I Had a Boat**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: BelieveItOrNot, IReen H, dreaminginnorweigen, moirae and dragonfly366 - I love you girls hard.**

**To MissWinkles - the sweetest of delusions, and lots of peanut butter kisses.**

**And of course, my Tam. I adore you. Thank you for helping me to grow as a writer, and for being a wonderful friend.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>If I Had a Boat<strong>_**, James Vincent McMorrow**

_**burn slow, burning up the back wall  
><strong>__**long roads, where the city meets the sky  
><strong>__**most days, most days stay the sole same  
><strong>__**please stay, for this fear it will not die**_

_**if I had a boat, I would sail to you  
><strong>__**hold you in my arms, ask you to be true  
><strong>__**once I had a dream, it died long before  
><strong>__**now I'm pointed north, hoping for the shore …**_

_**breaking at the seams  
><strong>__**heaving at the brace  
><strong>__**sheets all billowing  
><strong>__**the breaking of the day  
><strong>__**sea is not my friend  
><strong>__**everyone conspires  
><strong>__**still I choose to swim  
><strong>__**slip beneath the tide**_

_**once I had a dream  
><strong>__**once I had a hope  
><strong>__**that was yesterday  
><strong>__**not so long ago  
><strong>__**this is not the end  
><strong>__**this is just the world  
><strong>__**such a foolish thing  
><strong>__**such an honest girl**_

* * *

><p><strong>Jan 2011 cont.<strong>

I can feel it coming. The numbness, the apathy. I can feel it seeping from my heart, the anaesthetic spreading. I shut myself into my apartment, my breathing shallow as I lean against the door, my eyes closing.

"Fucking hell."

I push away from the door, kicking my shoes off, switching on the lights as I stumble toward the couch. I flick the television on, leaving it on whichever channel I had last switched off. It doesn't matter– I just need the noise of it to fill the empty apartment.

My phone chimes, and I sigh as I dig it out of my pocket. It's Jasper, wanting to know how today went. I type out a quick reply before I throw my phone onto the table.

**From Edward Masen:  
><strong>**It was a fucking disaster. But we're working on it.**

This will be good for us, I tell myself. It's what we need if we have any chance of making this – _us_ – work.

* * *

><p><em>Bella's smile when I arrive at Garrett and Katie's is warm but nervous.<em>

"_Do you want to come in?" she offers._

_I shake my head. There's no way in hell I want to step inside that house, filled as it is with so many memories of Bella and me and easier times._

"_Okay," her smile falls a little, but her eyes are full of understanding. "It's hard, huh?"_

"_Yeah." I look at my shoes, toeing the doormat. _

"_Let me get my coat and we'll go." _

_She reappears almost before I've finished nodding; shrugging into a dark woolen coat and wrapping a brightly colored scarf around her neck._

"_I, uh, I appreciate this," she tells me, fiddling with the stereo as I pull out from the curb._

"_It's no problem." _

_I called Bella two days after our reunion. It was awkward, and I was relieved when she suggested I come look at a few apartments with her. We do need to spend time together, we have things to talk about – but having a task, an objective, makes it seem less overwhelming._

_She reads me the first address, and I navigate the icy roads carefully, searching for something to say. _

"_How's Bridezilla doing?" I finally ask, lifting my voice over Dan Auerbach's._

_Bella snorts, and the corner of my mouth turns up in response._

"_That woman has gone insane," she tells me. "The amount of energy and time she's putting into the smallest details … it's just, well, it's beyond my comprehension."_

"_It's still … what, two months away?"_

_Bella gasps at me in mock horror. "Forty-nine days and four hours. How could you not know this?"_

_I chuckle. "I think I escaped at a good time. She was still counting by weeks when I moved out."_

_I pull into the curb out the front of the first building Bella is supposed to be checking out. I frown as I take in the graffiti and general state of dilapidation. _

"_If I didn't have an appointment, I'd say let's just forget this one," she sighs, her nose wrinkling in disgust._

"_Maybe it'll look better inside," I offer._

_It doesn't. We're back in the car and heading toward the next place on her list within five minutes._

_The next two apartments are … sufficient. They're neat, in secure buildings – small, yes, but inhabitable. _

_Bella sighs as she climbs back into the car. "One more."_

_As soon as we step inside, I know this will be the one she will choose. It's open and airy – light streaming in through the huge windows. It's small, but not cramped; dark wood panels the floor, and the white walls are somehow bare but not sterile. It feels like Bella: compact, but warm, inviting._

"_This is the one," she murmurs._

_I smile, nodding my agreement. _

_While Bella and the agent start fussing around with paperwork for the lease, I wander out onto the little balcony, tugging my coat more tightly around me as a blast of the chilled wind wraps around me. Looking out over the city, I calculate that we're about a ten-minute walk from my own apartment. It's comforting – after months of not knowing, it's a relief to know that Bella will be so close._

_I'm not sure how long I've been standing out here when I hear the door slide open behind me. I turn to see Bella step out into the cold, the wind setting her dark hair to fluttering._

"_That was quick." I grin._

"_Yup," she giggles. "Thank goodness. I can pick up the key on Wednesday."_

"_Money's not going to be an issue?" I ask. "You know, before you get some tutoring work?"_

"_Oh," she looks at her feet. "Um, Mom and Phil are helping me out, you know, until I finish school … again."_

"_Your Mom came around to you staying in Chicago, then?" That surprises me a little. _

_Bella's lips twist in a half-smile. "Yeah. She … well, she understands why I need – want – to be here."_

_My cheeks flush a little as Bella meets my gaze, her eyes willing me to understand. My lips are on hers before I register stepping toward her._

_And fuck, have I missed this. Her fingers curl into the hair at the back of my head as she responds enthusiastically to my kiss. The feel of her sweet lips, though cold from the winter air, causes heat to surge through me. She opens her mouth to me, and I unthinkingly accept her invitation, sliding my tongue against hers. A shudder runs through me – I don't know if it's in response to the frigid temperatures, or the warm body I'm pulling closer, closer._

_Her soft moan sends a jolt through me, sweeping away the fog clouding my brain. My hands on her waist stop pulling and start pushing her away. I pull my face from hers, ignoring her whimper. It's hard, but I succeed._

"_No." I shake my head. "No. I shouldn't have done that."_

"_It's okay," she assures me, her voice shaky as she seeks to refill her lungs with the air I stole from them._

"_No. Bella, it's not. It's not okay." I turn away from her, my hands tugging at my hair. "I can't do this."_

* * *

><p>My phone chimes again, and I reach for it wearily.<p>

**From Jasper Whitlock:  
><strong>**What do you mean by disaster? Are you okay?**

I sigh.

**From Edward Masen:  
><strong>**I'll be fine. I lost my temper with her. We decided not to 'see' each other.**

* * *

><p><em>I hear Bella's intake of breath. When she speaks, her voice is so faint I spin to face her, alarmed. "You don't want me."<em>

"_That's not what I said." My voice is rough, harsh. _

"_Am I too late?" she asks quietly. _

"_I don't know." I slide the door open, gesturing for her to head back inside._

_She shakes her head, her tear-heavy eyes pleading._

"_Go inside, Bella. It's fucking freezing. Let's at least have this conversation out of the wind."_

_She nods, sniffling, and steps back inside her new home._

"_Are you guys done here? Isabella?" The agents voice startles me._

_Seeing Bella isn't in any state to speak, I answer. "Yeah. Thank you so much for your time."_

"_No problem. Isabella, you can pick up the key on Wednesday morning from our office, okay?"_

_Bella nods distractedly, as the agent guides us out of the apartment. I thank her again as we step out of the elevator and part ways. Bella follows me silently back to the car. She slips into the car silently, tucking her knees up to her chin, her shoulders hunched. I feel a sharp pang as I take in her dejection._

"_Bella."_

_Her eyes snap to mine, fearful and hopeless._

"_Are Garrett and Katie home?"_

_She shakes her head._

_The drive back to their place is silent, tense – the eerie calm before a storm._

_Bella looks at me, startled, when I park the car by the curb and unbuckle my seatbelt. "You … you want to come in?"_

"_We need to talk."_

_I follow her inside, nearly running into her when she stops abruptly._

"_If you don't want me –" she whispers, without turning to face me, "– please, just tell me now and go."_

_I grab her shoulder, spinning her, forcing her to look at me. "Do you understand why I stopped us?"_

"_You don't want me … like that, anymore? I hurt you too much, and you … you've moved on?" Her voice is soft, laced with shame._

"_No, Bella. It's not that." I sigh, releasing her shoulder and shoving my hand through my hair. "I said 'I can't do this.' I meant … We can't do that … Not again. If we really want to make a go of this, we can't …_ Fuck_. Bella, we got in trouble before because we hid our emotions behind sex, and we can't do it again."_

"_No, we got in trouble because I'm a coward and I ran away."_

"_It would have blown up in our faces at some point, regardless. We weren't being honest with each other … well, I wasn't, anyway. I was too scared to tell you that I loved you."_

"_When did you know?" _

"_New Years' Eve." I smile bitterly, remembering whispering the words into the predawn._

_She nods, looking down. "I'm sorry."_

"_When ..." I hesitate, chewing on my tongue._

"_About a week after I left." She sighs. "That's when I realized it was – is – love. It, well, it kind of snuck up on me. I knew I cared for you, so much. But then … I realized that everything was emptier without you, that life was … less, without you."_

_Staggered, I stumble toward the living room, collapsing into the armchair._

_Bella follows me – I can feel her, hear her, though I don't look at her._

"_Edward?" I look up, finding her perched on the coffee table in front of me._

"_What?" She's taken aback as I spit the word at her._

"_Uh …" _

"_What do you want from me, Bella?" The anger and frustration rise within me, bubbling to the surface, and I push myself back to my feet, putting distance, and the armchair, between us. "What do you want? You want … what? To go back to how everything was before? To pretend the last six months never happened?"_

_I can see the tears spilling down her cheeks, and I hate them, but they're not enough to stop the words from spilling out of me. "Why should I, Bella? Why should I let you back in? Why should I trust you? I spent six months trying to get over you. I spent weeks, months, feeling lost and empty, like you'd taken away one of my vital organs. And then you show up, you stuff a fucking note under my door, just as I'm starting to think I'll be okay without you. Yes, I love you. I never stopped fucking loving you. But right now, I don't know if that's enough."_

* * *

><p><strong>From Jasper Whitlock:<br>****So, that's it? You decided she wasn't worth it? Are you okay? You want me to come over?**

What?

Oh, right.

**From Edward Masen:  
><strong>**Not what I meant. We're literally not going to "see" each other for a little while. We're going to talk on the phone, email, whatever. Get to know each other again.**

* * *

><p><em>Silence closes in around us, my bitter outburst hanging heavily in the air.<em>

_I turn away from Bella, looking out the window at the rapidly darkening sky. Snow is beginning to fall, the tiny white flakes tossing and twisting as the wind sends them where it wills._

"_Edward?" Bella's voice is surprisingly steady. _

_I turn to look her. Though her face is still pale and wet with tears, her eyes hold a resolve and determination that startles me._

"_I'm sorry."_

_I nod, resentment still simmering inside me. I don't trust myself not to start shouting again if I open my mouth._

"_I don't deserve your trust, not now, and I understand that. But I'm not going to give up – I'll do whatever it takes to earn it." She smiles sadly at me. "I just need to know … is there a chance, I mean, for us?"_

_I look up at the ceiling, my eyes searching for answers hidden in the off-white paint. I can feel the anger draining from me, replacing itself with confusion, uncertainty, and longing. Is there a chance for us? I don't know. Do I want there to be one? I don't know._

_I try to imagine walking away from Bella. Telling her "No," and walking out of her life. The pain I feel merely contemplating it gives me my answer._

"_I want there to be," I whisper. I steady myself with a deep breath and focus on Bella's face. "I want there to be a chance."_

_She nods – her eyes glitter with determination, and her lips press together tightly as she swallows. _

"_Then I'm going to fight for you, Edward. For you – for _us_. To answer your question … I want – I'll take – whatever you can give me. But I'm not giving up."_

"_But … how? I don't …" I trail off. I don't know what it would take for her to prove herself to me._

_Bella stands and moves toward me, her movements slow – as though she fears I will bolt if she gets too close. _

"_You said we were hiding our emotions behind sex."_

_I nod, swallowing hard._

"_We can't fall back into that pattern."_

_My head shakes slightly, but my eyes don't leave Bella's._

"_Okay. What if … well, what if we don't _see_ each other for a while?"_

_I frown. "How will that help us? I thought you said –"_

"_No, I mean it literally. Not seeing each other. So, what if we, like – talk on the phone and send emails, but don't actually, physically inhabit the same space, for a while. So we don't fall back into saying things with our bodies that we're too scared to say with our words … or our hearts."_

_There's wisdom in what she's saying. I hesitate. "Okay."_

"_Okay?" Bella's smile is a little dazzling, and I have to blink – it's fucking radiant or something._

"_But, uh, how will we know when to, you know, when it's okay to see each other again?"_

"_Let's play it by ear." Bella grins at her pun and I roll my eyes, smiling a little._

"_No, seriously," she continues. "It will be your call, alright? You let me know when you're ready."_

"_How will I know?" I ask, stupidly._

_She smiles gently. "You'll know."_

* * *

><p><strong>From Jasper Whitlock:<br>****Oh. Sounds like a good idea. Still good for tomorrow night?**

What day is it? Sunday. Tomorrow – oh, right. Brewery night.

**From Edward Masen:  
><strong>**Yeah, I'll be there, man.**

* * *

><p>"<em>I should probably go," I murmur.<em>

_Bella smiles a little. "Okay. Can I, uh, can I call you, soon?"_

_I nod. "Yeah."_

_She walks me to the front door, but hesitates with her fingers on the handle._

"_Can I –" Her cheeks flush pink as she drops her eyes to her shoes._

"_Bella?"_

_The words tumble out, her cheeks glowing brighter. "Can I hug you, before you go?" _

_Oh, Bella. "Come here." I pull her into my arms, feeling her slight frame melt into mine. It's so … right._

_We stand, clinging to each other, as the last of the day fades away, until darkness swoops around us, swallowing us. _

"_I should go," I tell her, though I make no move to release her. Instead, I hold her closer, tighter, my nose buried in her hair. _

"_You should go," her voice is muffled against my chest. Her arms loosen around my waist, and I drop my arms as she steps back a little._

_She opens the door, a wistful smile gracing her lips as I step past her, out into the night._

"_I'll talk to you, soon," I tell her. I hesitate, before dropping a quick kiss to her forehead._

"_Bye, Edward."_

* * *

><p>Sitting now, my eyes fixed on the flashing colors of my television screen, I'm utterly exhausted. It's an exhaustion that goes beyond sleepiness, a weariness I can feel settling deep in my bones. I'm drained, emotionally spent.<p>

And I'm scared.

This level of emotional exhaustion makes me vulnerable, easy prey for the sleeping terror that dwells within. Already I can feel it stirring, its poison spreading through my veins – the numbness, the lethargy, that precede its awakening.

Of course, this disease would choose to rear its ugly head now.

How fucking ironic.

Bella fled from me, fearing this illness, and it stayed buried, dormant. In the midst of despair and heartbreak, it slumbered on.

But she returns, and it stirs awake: sniffing the air eagerly – its sinister eyes, its spiteful smile, fixed on me. I try to push it away, to soothe it back into its heavy sleep. But its greedy claws flex, and it begins to test out its ghastly voice.

It will not be long before it seeks to entangle me with its whispered lies – worthless, hopeless, loveless.

* * *

><p><strong>I love hearing from you, lovely people.<strong>

**Shell x**


	20. Bones: Feb 2011

**Chapter 19: Bones**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: BelieveItOrNot, IReen H, Dreaminginnorweigen, moirae and Dragonfly366 - wonderful ladies are wonderful.**

**MissWinkles - I love you like peanut butter M&Ms.**

**Tam - I love you like I love scruffy British boys with guitars. You make my words better, and inspire me with your own.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Bones<strong>_**, Ben Howard**

**Oh go, far from this small town bar we know  
><strong>**Yeah go, frolic in the lights that brought you here  
><strong>**So very long**

**And hold, hold your lips so tightly  
><strong>**That the shadows may go  
><strong>**Cause I know, I know, I know, I know  
><strong>**You can never be alone  
><strong>**Cause it's just the bones you're made of**

**And you laugh like you've never been lonely  
><strong>**That's alright honey  
><strong>**That's alright with me  
><strong>**Oh you laugh like there's hope in the story  
><strong>**That's alright honey  
><strong>**That's alright with me  
><strong>**Oh you laugh like I'll be there to hold you always  
><strong>**Always here  
><strong>**I'm always here, always here**

* * *

><p><strong> Feb 2011.<strong>

"Great job, Edward." Marcus claps me on the shoulder as he makes his way out of the conference room.

"Thanks," I mutter as his Armani-clad back disappears out the door.

"You'll be getting promoted in no time at all," Siobhan says, her breath hot and humid against my neck. I flinch. She smells all wrong – her perfume sickly sweet and cloying – and it makes my stomach churn.

Stepping away from her, I shrug. "We'll see."

"That's ... quite impressive," she tells me, her dark eyes raking up and down my body. "Almost unheard of, for someone so young to be promoted so quickly."

Shifting uncomfortably, I take another step sideways, putting more space between us as I continue to gather my papers and flash drives. Anxiety starts to thunder in my chest. I want to loosen my tie, needing to breathe a little easier, but frankly, I'm scared she'll take it as an invitation or something. I'm careful to avoid looking at her, hoping she'll take the hint.

"So, tell me, Eddie – do you have any plans tonight?"

"Yeah, I do actually." The smile that turns my lips up is uncontainable.

Bella and I have spoken almost every night for the past two weeks, and I can't wait to get home and chat with her some more. We rarely touch on deeper issues, but somehow we manage to fill hours and hours trading stories. It's … freeing, really, just talking for the sake of sharing our lives and hearing each other's voice.

"Ah, a date, I presume from that smirk." Siobhan's voice drops a little, pulling me out of my thoughts of Bella. To be honest, that breathy, would-be-seductress tone she's adopted is freaking me the fuck out.

"Uh, yeah. Kinda." I rake my hands through my hair.

"So this girl. Are things … _serious_, with her?"

"Uh," I hesitate. It's not exactly any of her business, but her interest has become a little too obvious of late. Looking up at her, I meet her eyes. They're the wrong shade of brown. "Yeah, it is."

"Such a shame," she shakes her head dramatically.

I plaster a smile on my face, feeling a little sick inside. "I love her, Siobhan. She's everything." It's the truth, but it feels cheapened somehow, using those precious words to ward off another woman's advances.

Her face falls, and for just a moment, I see through her carefully applied make-up, her perfectly styled hair, and her expensive suits – she's lonely. This high-flying, professional woman – as competent, intelligent, and attractive as she is – is not immune to the same heart-clenching, lung-crushing loneliness that I have come to know so intimately. Since I started with the firm, I've always respected Siobhan; I've admired her, looked up to her, and learned a hell of a lot from her. Yes, I've been a little freaked out by her recent overt flirtatiousness – but right now, all I can feel for her is compassion.

Awkwardly, I shoulder my laptop bag and grab the handle of my briefcase. "Hey, I, uh, I'll see you tomorrow, Siobhan."

"Sure. Bye, Edward."

As I lean against the elevator wall, plummeting toward the parking garage, I let my eyes close. I'm just so fucking tired.

* * *

><p>I pounce on my phone as soon as City and Colour start pouring from the tiny speaker.<p>

"Hey Bella."

She giggles. "It still freaks me out when you do that."

"I know it's you – what's the point of answering any other way?"

"I know – it's just funny. You're supposed to say 'Hello,' and let me say 'Oh, hey! It's Bella.' You're stealing my opening line."

"Do you want to hang up? You can call back and I'll answer correctly, I promise."

I chuckle as the line goes dead.

I'm grinning like a fool when my cell immediately starts ringing again. I wait through four bars of _Little Hell_ before hitting "accept."

"Hello?"

"Hi Edward! It's Bella."

"Oh, hey Bella. How are you?"

"I'm doing good. How are you?"

"Oh, you know. Pretty good, even though I'm being bossed around by my girl."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, she's a bit of a brat, but I like her like that."

"Listen to you, rhyming away. You're a poet, baby."

"Oh, yeah. I'm a regular Lord Tennyson."

"Do you even know any of his works, Edward?"

"_But in her web she still delights  
><em>_To weave the mirror's magic sights,  
><em>_For often thro' the silent nights  
><em>_A funeral, with plumes and lights  
><em>_And music, went to Camelot:  
><em>_Or when the moon was overhead,  
><em>_Came two young lovers lately wed;  
><em>_'I am half-sick of shadows,' said  
><em>_The Lady of Shalott_."

Bella is silent for too long. I glance at the screen, making sure the connection is still good.

"Bella? Are you there, sweetheart?"

"Uh."

"Bella?"

"Are … are you reciting that from memory?"

I suppress the laughter bubbling in my throat. "Why so surprised?"

"Do you know more than that stanza?"

"_A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,  
><em>_He rode between the barley-sheaves,  
><em>_The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,  
><em>_And flamed upon the brazen greaves  
><em>_Of bold Sir Lancelot_."

I grimace as I try to flip the page as silently as I can.

"_A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd  
><em>_To a lady in his shield,  
><em>_That sparkled on the yellow field,  
><em>_Beside remote Shalott_."

Suspicion laces her tone when she speaks again. "That's just lovely. Any other poems you've committed to memory, baby?

Grinning to myself I flip through the heavy book, selecting a page at random. "Just bits and pieces, you know?" I wonder if she can hear the barely contained laughter in my voice.

"Well, come on then – what else have you got?"

"How about some Coleridge? _The Rime of the Ancient Mariner_?"

"Hit me."

"_It is an ancient Mariner  
><em>_And he stoppeth one of three.  
><em>_'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,  
><em>_Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?'_–"

Before I can really get going, Bella interrupts. "You know, I do like the Romantics, Edward. Do you know any Blake? What about _The Tyger_?"

"Uh –" I laugh silently as I flip to the index page. "Sure, sure, just let me think."

"_Tyger! Tyger! burning bright  
><em>_In the forest of the night_ … come on – this one's very well known."

"Um …"

Bella giggles. "Page fifty-something, baby."

"Oh!" I'm flipping through the front of the heavy book before I fully comprehend what she's said. "What?"

"Exactly when did you acquire my Norton Anthology, Edward?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about." The injured tone I adopt is at odds with the goofy grin stretching my lips.

I chuckle again as Bella is suffused by a fit of giggles. _Fuck_, that sound – how it warms me from the inside out!

She's still overcome by mirth as she tries to tell me off for my deception. "I can't believe you … well, I totally believed you … But … you … you cheat!"

"Sorry, love." I'm not – not in the slightest. I'd do it again to hear her laugh so freely.

"No, you're not," she tells me. I can hear the smile in her voice, and suddenly, I'm desperate to see it. _I am half-sick of shadows, said the Lady of Shallot. _I want to see her eyes sparkling, her lips curling. I want to see her smile at me.

"Bella?"

"Mmm?"

The words tumble out in a rush: "I want to see you."

Her pause makes me nervous, and I babble to fill the silence. "It's just … hearing you laugh – my heart's going crazy, and, um, I want to see it. I miss seeing you like that: free and happy. I want to see you smiling."

"Are you sure?" she whispers.

"Absolutely." Is she hesitating? Why? "Unless, you know, you don't want to see me?" I'm not sure my heart could stand that.

"No! Yes! Wait. _Fuck._ Yes, Edward, I want to see you. Of course I do. But only if you think you're ready. I told you – whatever it takes. And I meant it. I miss you like crazy, baby. Every minute of every day. But I can be patient – for as long as you need me to."

"I'm certain, love. Will you see me?"

"Are you asking me out on a date, Edward?" I appreciate her sudden levity.

"Why, yes, I am. What do you think? Have I swept you off your feet sufficiently with my poetic declarations?"

"Oh, yes. I'm positively swooning."

"Is, uh, is tomorrow night okay?"

"Yeah. That would be lovely."

"I'll pick you up at seven, alright?"

"Sounds perfect, baby."

"And Bella –"

"Mmm?"

"Wear red heels."

"Uh." I smirk as I hear her breathing falter. "Um, sure, yeah, of course … So, why do you have my book?"

My smile fades, and I sigh, melancholy creeping back in. Bella speaks before I can answer, her tone softening, "I have two of your shirts."

"You do?"

"Yeah. Uh, I took one of them with me when I left. Just in case … well, I don't even know – I wasn't really thinking clearly. It was probably my subconscious trying to tell me something …" She sighs, and continues. "And then, you'd left one at Garrett's – it was right down the bottom of the hamper. And, yeah … it hadn't been washed."

"Gross."

I can almost hear her cheeks color. "No, I liked it. It still smelled like you, like your aftershave."

_Oh_. Her little confession makes me realize just how much she's changed. She's putting herself on the line, taking the first step. It emboldens me.

"I just wanted something of you with me – with the book, I mean. I took it when I moved out. It's just been sitting on my shelf. But, yeah, I started reading it – well, bits and pieces of it – maybe a week ago."

"Found anything you like?" I'm grateful for her nonchalance, for not pressing the issue.

"Yeah. I mean, this book's a bit fucking weird, and like, enormous – I haven't like, been reading cover to cover. And there are all these extracts and letters and prefaces and shit. But I do like Tennyson … and uh, Lawrence and Eliot. Oh, and I really liked Les Murray."

"Garrett will be happy to hear that." She snickers, "Well, he would be if he knew who Les Murray was."

"I liked the 'Axe-fall, echo and silence' thing. I could maybe, _see_ it – no, _hear_ it or something. The axe I mean."

"Right? That's awesome."

"Yeah. So, uh, who are your favorites in this huge fucking tome?"

"Um, let's see. I get that one mixed up with Volume One. But, _oh_, well, you know I like John Keats –

I cut her off in surprise. "I do?"

"Uh, yeah … I made you watch the movie about him, remember?"

"You did?" I don't remember watching a movie about a poet. "What was it called?"

"_Bright Star_."

My mind searches – it does sound familiar. "Is that, like, kinda colorful? Like flowers and meadows and shit?"

"Huh? Oh, yes! It really is."

"I remember. I didn't really watch much of it …" I hesitate. Oh, what the hell – she knows. "I spent most of the time watching you, and then I think I fell asleep."

"Oh." I wish I could see her expression right now. There's a smile in her voice when she continues. "I also like Blake and Shelley. Wordsworth. Umm … Auden and Yeats, and Seamus Heaney. Oscar Wilde. And there's not much of his stuff in there, but I do quite like Salman Rushdie."

It's well after midnight by the time we hang up. Exhausted, my mood is swinging wildly between delight and sorrow. I'm elated at how well we're getting along, the ease with which we converse, and just how fucking _good_ it feels to laugh together. And yet, I can't help but regret all the wasted time, the months apart, the heartache. Lying in the dark, I blink back the tears stinging my eyes – refusing to surrender to their threat, their pricking and choking.

No.

Not again.

Not _now_.

* * *

><p>As soon as Bella opens the door to her apartment, I realize my error.<p>

Those fucking shoes. They'll be the death of me.

My gaze trails from her lips, painted a deep red that I just want to kiss off her, to her toes, which are hidden inside a pair of super shiny, super sexy, red heels.

Her toes tap a few times as I stare at them, and Bella's giggle causes my eyes to snap back to her face. Her eyebrows lift as I meet her gaze, and I feel my cheeks heat – my face probably matches her shoes.

"Uh, hi."

"Hey yourself." She winks at me, and I shake my head, feeling a little foolish.

"You, um, you look beautiful, Bella."

Understatement of the week. She's got these cute white stockings on under her sunshine yellow dress. It's sweet and sexy and just fucking adorable all at once.

She ducks her head, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Thank you," she murmurs. "You look pretty amazing yourself."

I shrug, looking at my hands. Which are still holding the little posy of purple flowers I picked up this afternoon.

"Oh." I thrust them at her awkwardly. "These are for you."

"Thank you. Um, come in, while I put them in some water."

I follow her into her little apartment, my eyes darting around the space, observing the personal touches she's added since we viewed it a few weeks ago. Most obvious are the books – one wall of the living room is completely lined with bookcases. But there is also the ancient-looking blanket that's folded over the armchair, the huge black and white photograph of the Golden Gate Bridge, and the pin-board that's completely plastered with vibrantly colored photographs.

I catch sight of my own face in among the mess of color and I step closer, frowning as I take in the image. I can't tell whose living room it was taken in, but Bella and I curled up in an armchair – she's sitting across my lap – and we are grinning at each other, quite goofily, to be honest. We look … lost in our own world, lost in each other's gaze, lost in what is obviously some private joke.

"Katie took it." Bella's voice startles me, and I look down into her eyes, surprised to find her so close. "I can't even remember whose place it was in."

"Me either," I admit. "It's a great photo."

"Yeah, it is."

"I, um – your place looks great."

"Thanks. I've never really had my own place before, so it's been kind of nice to decorate it, make it feel like home."

We smile at each other for a beat too long – then Bella giggles and I roll my eyes.

"Are you ready to go, sweetheart?"

"I'll just get a jacket." Bella disappears into her bedroom, reappearing swiftly with a charcoal-colored coat. I help her slide into it, offering her my arm as she pulls the front door closed behind us.

* * *

><p>The little jazz lounge is humming when we step into its dimly lit haze a few hours later. It's all reds and golds and low light – the kind of place you expect to see flapper girls and dudes in fedoras. Bella's eyes are wide as she looks around, her hips moving with the bass-line that's thrumming heavy in the air.<p>

"Would you like to dance, love? Or would you like a drink?"

"A drink, perhaps. I think I need to let my dinner settle first," she groans, rubbing her belly.

I shake my head at her theatrics. "What would you like?"

"Umm … Ooh! A martini, please."

"Sure. Why don't you go and sit down –" I motion toward the sumptuous-looking chairs gathered in little clusters over to our right, "– while I get it."

Bella presses a soft kiss to my cheek. "Thank you."

I think I'm doing that dumbstruck-dude thing as I make my way to the bar – my fingers on my cheek, the skin still burning with the feel of her lips.

Once I've secured her martini and my scotch, I make my way toward the couches, looking for my girl. I frown as I spot her – with a tall dude perched on the arm of her chair.

"Here you are, Bella." I hand her the glass, trying to rein in the urge to glower at the stranger that's leaning too fucking close to her.

"Thank you, baby." My jealousy melts away under her brilliant smile.

The guy takes one look at Bella's face and mumbles something to her that I don't catch, before disappearing back into the crowd of bodies swaying on the dance floor.

"What did he say?" I ask her.

She smiles shyly. "He just apologized."

She's leaving something out. "For?"

"Um." She looks me in the eye, her gaze serious. "He said he hoped a girl would smile at him like that one day."

"Oh." I bring the tumbler of amber liquid to my lips, but I'm certain it's not the alcohol that's warming my insides.

Bella sips her martini, a faraway expression on her pretty face as she twirls a lock of her dark hair around the index finger of her free hand.

"Will you tell me what you're thinking?" I ask her.

Her dark eyes shine in the half-darkness as she gives me her attention. "I'm not really thinking about anything. I'm just … being."

The smile forming on my lips becomes a grimace as the wail of a saxophone screeches through the room. There's just been a change of players, and this dude – well, he sucks.

Bella's eyes widen before she collapses into a fit of giggles. "_Careless Whisper_, seriously?"

I groan, my head in my hands. My plans for a romantic evening, of slow dancing, Bella's warm body pressed to mine, have just been destroyed by a man wearing vinyl pants and the ugliest mullet I've ever seen.

"Do you want to get out of here?" I offer, struggling to conceal my disappointment.

"Are you kidding?" she shrieks. "Let's dance."

She drains her martini, and leaps to her feet, tapping her toes as I swallow the rest of my scotch. I'm laughing as she drags me toward the dark wood paneling of the dance floor. My hands move to her waist and her arms slide around my neck, and suddenly, despite the absurdity of the soundtrack, this moment is perfect. We're smiling, laughing, holding each other close, and _that_ is all that matters.

Bella looks up at me, and all I want to do is press my lips to hers, to tell her how much I love her, how much I'll always love her.

"Don't," she says, shaking her head at me.

"Uh?"

"Don't kiss me while this song is playing. I can't … no, you cannot kiss me while that dude is on stage. Look at him. No." She shakes her head, her lips twitching. "That dude cannot be part of our second first kiss."

"Third."

"Huh?"

"It'll be our third first kiss. 'Cause, I, uh, I kissed you that day, when we were looking at apartments."

"That doesn't matter, Edward. It will be our last first kiss."

My voice gets stuck in my throat as her words sink into my skin, her warm breath caressing my neck.

_Fuck._

When sax-man finally climbs off the stage, I exhale in relief, even as tension and nerves begin to build in my belly.

An old guy saunters onto the stage, his gravelly voice barking out instructions as he waves his trumpet at the skinny dude lugging an upright bass, and the wizened-looking gentleman settling himself at the piano.

I pull Bella into my chest as he takes up a plaintive tune, the trumpet pleading and crying. We move slowly, swaying, our bodies making contact at every point possible.

I drop my lips to her ear – I can't wait a moment longer. "Is _Blue in Green_ acceptable, love?"

Bella looks up at me, and I see the same longing that's speeding my heartbeat reflected back at me.

She doesn't speak. Instead, she curls her fingers into my hair and pulls my face down to meet hers. We hesitate, lips millimeters apart – I can taste her breath, fragrant and warm from the liquor, and sweet, because it's _Bella_.

"Wait." Her whisper may well have been a scream – so fast and heavy does my heart plummet. My eyes close as my body stiffens, anticipating her blow.

And yet, I feel soft hands on my face – warm and gentle.

"Open you eyes, baby."

It's an effort – even in the shadowy lounge, I feel exposed and stripped bare.

"It's okay, baby." she says, her voice low but forceful. She frowns as she gazes up at me, sadness lining her face. "You don't trust me –"

"Bella, I –"

"It's okay. _I_ did this, I know. And I told you – whatever it takes."

My forehead drops to hers, leaning against her as our bodies continue to rock gently to the trumpet's melancholy cries. I wish I could make her understand just how deeply I long for her – that my thoughts could somehow diffuse across the space between my mind and hers.

But maybe she's right. Maybe it is too soon.

I straighten until I can look into her eyes. I hold her gaze for a moment, willing her to see how hard I'm trying to let go. I press my lips to her cheek in silent apology.

"It's okay, baby," she whispers, again.

My head drops to her shoulder, and her hands dance across my back as we continue to sway, surrounded by lovers, smiling and laughing.

When the set ends, Bella doesn't mention the darkened, salty-wet patch on the shoulder of her dress. Instead, she takes my hand and twines our fingers together, lifting up on her toes to kiss my cheek.

"Thank you."

* * *

><p>I turn down Bella's invitation to come inside when I arrive back at her flat. My insides are a mess – despair and hope all mixed up together until I can't distinguish one from the other.<p>

I walk her to the entrance of her building, dropping a kiss into her hair as she embraces me tightly.

"I'll call you?" she asks, her lip between her teeth as she waits for my answer.

I nod, offering her a small smile as my thumb sweeps across her cheekbone. "Yeah."

My shoulders slump as she disappears into the brightly lit building, and I turn on my heel, my fists shoved in my pockets as I head back to my car. I frown up at the coal-dark sky as snowflakes begin to land on my face, tiny pinpricks of cold on my burning cheeks.

I don't even know how to begin sorting through how I feel about the evening. Is Bella right? Do I still not trust her?

_You haven't told her about the downward spiral that is pulling at you, dragging you inexorably into its bone-deep weariness._

She left me because of my illness. She'll be gone in a flash if she knows it's flexing its muscles, re-exerting its control over me.

_She left you because you _hid_ it from her. And you're doing it again. _

That wasn't intentional.

_But this is. You're choosing to keep her in the dark. Omitting. Lying._

"Fuck!" I slam my hands against the steering wheel.

I'm shaking as I fumble with the key, finally turning the ignition. I switch on my headlights, but before I can even disengage the handbrake, my heart is in my mouth as the hood collides with something heavy.

"Shit!" My eyes dart around wildly. The car's still fucking parked, how did I hit something? What's happening? I close my eyes, hoping for clarity when I reopen them.

What I do see will be burned into my dreams forever more.

Bella stands in front of my car – her hands still resting where she thumped them down to garner my attention. Her dark hair is whipping across her pale face, snowflakes eddying and swirling around her. Her cheeks are flushed, and her red lips parted slightly as she gasps for breath.

And she's not wearing a coat.

I'm out of the car as soon as my mind registers that she's standing in the snow in only her pretty yellow dress. Dragging my own jacket off my shoulders, I stumble toward her.

"Bella? What are you – Sweetheart, it's freezing – what? Are you okay?"

I think I click the lock on my car keys as I attempt to bundle her back towards her building. But, really, it doesn't matter. I need to get Bella someplace warm.

"Wait."

"Bella – we have to get you inside."

"No. Wait. Please wait." Her desperate entreaty stops me in my tracks, and I motion for her to continue, though I'm eyeing her rapidly bluing lips with concern.

"Tonight. When I said 'Wait.' Before you –"

I sigh. "My depression's getting worse," I say, and at the same time, she says, "I love you."

…

…

Her hand is tugging on my shirtsleeve. "Let's go inside, baby."

* * *

><p><strong>I love hearing from you guys.<strong>

**Shell x**


	21. Sew My Name: Feb 2011

**Chapter 20:** **Sew My Name**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: My inbox has been completely inundated this week - thank you so much to everyone who has followed, favourited, read, reviewed, tweeted and messaged me. You guys make me giddy-happy.**

**BelieveItOrNot, IReen H, dreaminginnorweigen, moirae and dragonfly366 - I love you ladies hard.**

**MissWinkles introduced me to the wonderfulness that is Josh Pyke. Thank you, bb.**

**Tam. You make everything better and brighter. YMFC, bb.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sew My Name<strong>_**, Josh Pyke**

_**When I go, I think I'm gonna sew my name into all of your clothes  
><strong>__**My girl, since you have always worn me well.  
><strong>__**And there are too many animals on this ship, some of you I think will have to sink  
><strong>__**But when it gets too much, you can only adjust**_

_**Oh, I am always thinking about you  
><strong>__**And how you always wear me well,  
><strong>__**You can't outgrow something sewn under your skin  
><strong>__**So I will always wear you well.**_

_**And Sunday evening always has this sense of something good about to end  
><strong>__**I know we hold our breaths for tomorrow, and when I go I think I'm gonna write my name  
><strong>__**Into all the books you love so well, since you can read me good my girl  
><strong>__**Yeah, you can always read me well.**_

_**Try and rationalise a thing you've never seen before  
><strong>__**You can wear me well, you can wear me well  
><strong>__**I'd suit myself, but its one that I've never worn  
><strong>__**You can wear me well, you can wear me well  
><strong>__**And if there's only one truth that I know, it's that the stitches that we've made are the best I've ever sewn  
><strong>__**So when I go, I think I'm gonna sew my name into all of your clothes...**_

* * *

><p><strong>Feb 2011.<strong>

"Baby, come on." I let Bella tug me inside, her frigid fingers wrapped around my wrist.

Wherever she leads, I will follow.

Those three words still ring in my ears – they echo in my skull … they're emblazoned in fiery sparks against the black night air, they're graven across my heart.

I stumble after her unthinkingly, my eyes blinking furiously to adjust as we step inside the well-lit building. Bella pulls me toward the elevator, her red heels tap-tap-tapping across the tiles.

Inside the metal box dragging us skyward, we huddle together, teeth chattering, and lips quivering.

_I love you._

She loves me.

"You love me?"

Bella looks up at me, my coat hanging off her shoulders, her face pale, her lips a disturbing shade of bruise-purple.

"I love you." Her confirmation causes warmth to surge through me.

My heart, already thrumming from the adrenaline of rushing around in the snow, accelerates, and my breathing becomes shallow, panting.

"I love you, too."

And now, I have to kiss her. Hesitantly, my hand shaking – whether from excitement or fear or the onset of hypothermia I do not know – I reach for her, curling my cold-stiff fingers into her hair.

She doesn't stop me.

Her hands slide around my waist as I press my mouth to hers, frosty noses bumping and chilly, blue-tinged lips trying to smile and find their way to each other at the same time. Bella giggles against my kiss, before my tongue finds her warm mouth. Gasping into each other's mouths, our amusement evaporates.

This kiss is I love you and I'm sorry, I trust you and I'm done with hiding, I want you and I hate being apart from you.

It's not a kiss that exists outside of time and space – in fact it's so firmly anchored in them that it's a kiss I'll recall with perfect clarity in ten, twenty, fifty years. The warmth that spreads inside, while our outsides shake and shiver. The flashes of cheerful yellow and chocolate brown as my eyes flutter open and closed, open and closed – unable to decide whether I want to see every detail, or lose myself in other sensations. The feel of Bella's silky hair under my fingertips, her sweet tongue against mine, her hot breath filling my mouth.

Our last first kiss.

Scored by dings and pings and tinny elevator music, and the clearing of throats, as an elderly couple waits for us to become coherent enough to alight on Bella's floor.

"So sorry." We fumble our way out of the tiny space, faces afire, making room for them to head wherever the hell super old people head this late at night.

The door to Bella's apartment is wide open, her coat hanging from its hook, her bag and keys in their designated spaces.

"I wasn't thinking," she murmurs, noticing my frown at her lack of concern for her personal security. "Well, I was, but only about the fact that I had to get to you before you left. I had to tell you."

"Love, do you have any blankets? We should get warm."

Bella nods, motioning for me to take a seat on the couch. I head for her kitchen instead, filling the kettle with water and opening and closing cupboards and drawers at random until I find spoons, mugs, and hot chocolate powder.

I'm waiting for the kettle to boil when I feel Bella's little body press against my back, her still chilly arms sliding around my waist. I rub her forearms briskly, hoping fervently that she doesn't end up getting sick.

We settle onto the couch, cocooned in faded blankets, fingers wrapped around our steaming mugs of thick, sweet cocoa. Bella leans her head on my shoulder, and for a few moments, everything is exactly as it should be.

"Baby, will you tell me what you meant before? About your depression getting worse?"

My heart drops straight to my frozen toes.

I set my mug on the coffee table, the sweet aroma suddenly cloying, the taste of cocoa becoming bitter in my mouth.

I don't want to have this conversation. Not now. Not when she's just told me, finally, that she loves me.

_She loves me._

Will she still love me, knowing how much I'm slipping?

Her head falls back to my shoulder. The warm weight of her trust settles on me, the floral smell of her shampoo grounds me, and the wisps of her hair tickling my throat reassure me.

She came back to me aware of my illness.

_She loves me._

It's my turn to prove myself – to show her that I do trust her.

I don't look at her as I speak. I force the words out slowly and calmly, though my insides are still anything but. "It's been getting worse for a while. I, well, when I'm tired, things get, um, overwhelming. I can feel it. This downward spiral. The tiredness makes it harder to keep control of my emotions, and the strain on my emotions exhausts me, and it just keeps getting worse."

Bella's voice is soft and shaky. "Is it … is it my –"

"No." I cut her off. She cannot take this on herself. "I mean, yeah, I was fucking devastated when you left –"

"I'm so – "

"No more apologies, love, please." I pause until I feel her nodding against my shoulder. "I was heartbroken, yes. But not, uh, irrationally so, you know? I was still …. functioning, I guess. And when I did get overwhelmed I called up my therapist and we worked through things. I got to a really good place. But then, I don't know, lately, I can feel it stirring. It's like … I guess, it starts whispering things to me – not like I'm actually hearing weird voices or anything – just these feelings that don't make sense, but are really pervasive. Like feeling worthless, unloved, unwanted. Intellectually, I _know_ those things aren't true, but it's hard to make the way I feel match up with logical thought."

I scrub my hand over my face before I push on.

"When I'm really bad, I just – I want to stay in bed all day. Facing people, talking, smiling, keeping the act going, it takes so much effort, and some days I just don't have the energy. The meds have done a really good job over the last few years, but it might be time to look at upping my dosage or switching to a different type. I'm going to go see my doctor this week."

I pause. I need to be honest with her. "Bella –"

She sits up, and I turn my head so I can look at her. I hold her gaze as I speak. "If that's what needs to happen – if my meds need to be changed – things might get worse for a while, before they get better. I mean, they might be fine, but I can't promise that. You need to know, I might struggle really bad for a while."

She gives me a sad smile, and all I can find in her dark eyes is compassion. There's concern, too, in the slight scrunching of her eyebrows, but there's no panic, no judgment.

"I understand," she whispers. Her fingers caress my cheek. "Just promise me … if it gets too much, that you'll tell me – or anyone, really – someone … Don't hide it, okay? Don't suffer in silence."

"Even when I'm at my lowest – I swear to you, I will never harm myself."

"Is that a promise you can make, Edward? The meds might really screw you over. So, I'd rather you promise me that if you _do_ ever feel like that, you'll tell someone. Don't let guilt or fear stop you."

I touch her chin, making sure she keeps her eyes on mine. "I promise."

"Thank you."

Leaning in Bella presses her lips to mine – it's gentle, sweet, and all-too-brief.

"Sweetheart?"

"Mmm?"

"How come – uh, how are you okay with this … now? Like, what changed, that you, I guess, accept my illness?"

She sighs, reaching for my ear. I cringe, but she tugs on it carefully, pulling on it until my head rests in her lap. I look up at her and she smiles, bending forward to kiss me sideways. Her fingers move into my hair, stroking it, her nails raking gently across my scalp – exactly as they have so many times before. My eyes close under her tender ministrations, waiting as the silence lengthens and intensifies.

"I trust you."

My eyes snap open, searching her gaze for any hint of uncertainty in her declaration. Her eyes are more gold than brown as I stare up at her, and I'm both awed and humbled by the trust and love I see shining down at me.

I swallow, feeling the sting of overwhelming … _joy_ in the corners of my eyes.

"I, um –" her eyes widen as I reach up and press my finger against her lips.

"Enough talking," I tell her, my voice scratchy and hoarse.

Curling upwards, the muscles in my stomach tightening and straining under the effort, my mouth finds hers. She sighs into our kiss, her fingers still threaded through my hair. Awkwardly, I fumble around until I'm supporting most of my weight on my arm, my torso facing Bella's, my legs still lying across the couch. I'm not exactly comfortable, but I couldn't care less.

All that matters is the way our lips are moving together. They're warm now, sweet with sugar and cocoa and delight.

I pull my mouth away only to murmur, "I love you," before I lose myself in her taste again. And suddenly, I do care about this awkward position I've contorted myself into, because I can't get close enough to Bella.

Breaking our kiss, I lean back and – "_Fuck!_" – I'm looking up at the ceiling, the wind knocked painfully from my lungs.

In my haste to rearrange us, bring us closer, I lost my balance and fell off the couch, hard. Bella looks down at me, concern in her eyes and suppressed laughter on her lips. I grin up at her and, reassured, she lets the laughter bubble sweetly from her throat.

I make no move to stand, still refilling my lungs as I watch Bella giggle, her dark hair a tangled mess as it falls around her face. When she tips her head back, I take the opportunity to sit up, grabbing her around the waist, and pull her off the couch. She squeals in surprise, but as her body settles on top of mine, the amusement and shock drain from her features.

Her gaze becomes intense with something I can't quite read, and the air is suddenly thick and heavy, pregnant with anticipation.

My mind is racing. Are we ready for more?

"It's okay," she whispers, kissing me sweetly. "I know we're not ready for that – not yet."

"Mmm," is all the agreement I can manage as I fuse my lips back to hers.

We might not be ready to make love again, but I have not yet had my fill of kissing her.

It's sometime in the early hours of the morning when I finally manage to tear myself away from her embrace. I force myself to collect my keys and jacket, and bid Bella goodnight.

"Oh, _fuck."_

As soon as I step outside the doors of her building, I have to laugh in frustration.

I unlock my car, and turn the engine over.

Nothing.

"Aw, shit."

I deliberate only momentarily. Do I call roadside assistance now, and stand around in the snow until they drag their asses out here?

Fuck that.

Bella looks confused as she opens her door to my frantic knock.

"What's wrong, baby? What happened?"

"I left my fucking headlights on." I try really, really hard to keep my gaze fixed on her face, but she's changed into an old tee-shirt, and I can tell she's not wearing a bra.

Maybe I _should_ have waited outside for the AAA.

"Edward, I'll help you jumpstart it in the morning, but I'm not going out in the snow again. Just sleep here, okay?"

"Yeah, fine," I sigh, scrubbing at my eyes.

"I, um, I don't have a spare bed though."

"It's fine, I'll just sleep on the couch, love." I'll try to, anyway.

"Don't be silly! You're too tall. Just sleep with me – I mean, sleep in my bed."

"Uh, I …" My eyes drift across Bella's threadbare tee-shirt. "I don't know."

Bella shakes her head at me. "I'll put a bra on if you'd prefer."

"No!" My cheeks flood red. "I mean, if you want to, but it's fine, really. It's good. _Shit_. I mean you're good, whatever you want."

"I'm not going to try and seduce you, okay? I'm too tired," she winks, but then yawns widely. "Please, let's just get some sleep."

"Can I – is it okay if I take a shower first?"

"Yeah, of course. I mean –" she leans in and sniffs me "– you don't smell bad, not at all. So you don't _have_ to. It's fine, really."

Oh Bella. Silly girl.

"I'll just have a quick one, if that's cool." My voice breaks, squeaking like a fucking thirteen year old.

Bella tips her head, frown lines creasing her brow. "Uh, sure, I'll just grab you a towel."

She flits out of the room, reappearing with a fluffy green towel and a washcloth. "Here."

"Thanks," I mutter, my cheeks still burning.

"I'll be in bed. Come quickly, baby."

_Oh for fucks' sake, Bella. Are you trying to kill me? _I hear the door of her bedroom snap shut and the lock click into place.

Standing under the steaming water I take myself in hand – my other arm braced against the wall. I'm torn. Each stroke and tug fills me with pleasure and a twinge of shame – as good as it feels, as wound tight as I am – it feels a little wrong to be doing this in Bella's space, in her shower, where she washes and is naked and exposed and vulnerable … _fuck_.

But, _oh fuck_, if I'm to sleep in her bed, I need to take certain measures.

My hand speeds, my thighs tighten, and my breathing shortens as my mind conjures an image from the past – Bella naked, wet, her soft flesh pink from the scalding water.

I groan as release washes over me, my eyes growing heavy as my climax crests and then ebbs away.

Dried and dressed in my jeans again, I hesitate at her open door, tapping lightly against the frame.

"Get in here." Bella is already in bed, tucked under a grey and pink comforter. Her eyes are sleepy-heavy, and she looks, well, content, a small smile playing on her lips.

I climb in slowly, uncertain, nervous. I lie on my back, my head on the pillow, my limbs stiff.

"Baby, I'm not going to fucking attack you. Relax. You just need to cross your arms over your chest, and you'll look like a vampire in his coffin."

"Sorry," I mutter, rolling to face her.

Her eyes spark and shine in the low light cast by the bedside lamps, and her smile is unsettlingly mischievous.

"Baby?"

That tone can only mean trouble for me. "Yeah?"

"Did you just jerk off in my shower?"

I'm not entirely sure how my head avoids exploding as every molecule of blood in my body comes rushing to the surface: my cheeks, and neck – hell, it's entirely possible my knees are blushing right now.

"I, uh …" I shake my head. "Um … uh … I'm sorry." I manage to finally splutter the words out.

"Don't be," she grins. "There's a reason I locked the door when I got changed. You're not the only one who needed to prepare."

"Bella." I more groan than speak her name. "What the fuck, love?"

A previous conversation flashes through my mind. "I thought you couldn't … you know … do that?"

Her grin is positively wicked. "You remember that? Well, something changed – a while ago, actually. Apparently, I just needed the right inspiration."

And with that, my shower has been rendered completely redundant. My eyes slam shut – which helps nothing at all, because my imagination is really fucking brilliant when it comes to bombarding me with images of Bella _preparing_.

The words grind out from behind my clenched teeth. "Bella, I think, I should sleep on the couch."

Her face softens, her smirk fading to concern. "Oh, baby. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Wait –"

She climbs out of bed and pads softly out of the room.

As I listen to the soft sounds of her moving around the apartment, I let my eyes scan her dimly lit bedroom. It's quite different to her room at Garrett's – more personal, more lived in. There's the usual pile of books on her bedside table, and another on her desk, of course. I scan the titles beside the bed, smiling a little at her wildly varied tastes.

I've just spotted a series of photographs on one of the walls when Bella re-enters the bedroom, a pile of blankets in her arms.

She sets them on the floor, then untucks the flat sheet from her side of the bed. Pushing the comforter toward me, she picks up the blankets and starts unfolding them over her side of the mattress. I watch, bemused, as she buries herself beneath the pile of faded quilts.

"See, it's just like we're in separate beds."

I shake my head and laugh a little, but inside, my heart is fluttering like crazy. To be honest, I'm really touched. Once again, I can see just how much she's changed. She's putting my needs first.

A year ago, she would have teased and tempted me until I silenced her with my mouth, until I gave in and covered her with my body. Today, however, as much as I want her – and _fuck_, do I want her – she knows we're not ready, that I'm not ready. This simple gesture, the empathy and patience she's showing – it makes me feel _cared for_. Loved.

I can't speak for fear that opening my mouth will release the flood of sobs building in my throat. I fumble around until I find her hand, bringing it to my lips and pressing a kiss to her palm.

"Goodnight, Edward."

* * *

><p>Bella's hand in mine anchors me when morning brings the disorientation of waking in a strange bed, with the light flooding the room from the wrong direction.<p>

She's awake, her face bathed in early morning golds and pinks. Her dark hair is alight with sparks, and her eyes glow with warmth and affection as she waits for me to regain consciousness.

"Morning, love." My voice is thick with sleep.

"Can I come over?" she asks, her voice soft with just-woken scratchiness.

Wordlessly, I lift the comforter. She wriggles out of her blankets and I tuck my covers around her, pulling her close so that we lie side-by-side, facing each other, with only our hands still touching.

"Did you sleep okay?" she asks.

"I did." I reach my free hand out to tuck her dark tangles behind her ear. "Thank you."

"I'm glad. Did you, um, did you want to go for breakfast or something, and then we'll try to get your car going."

I really do, but I don't have any clean clothes. Oh, fuck it, who cares? "Yeah, I'd like that."

* * *

><p>Monday night.<p>

Brewery night.

I'm relieved to see Garrett and Jasper already here, and I make my way toward their booth quickly, my eyes on the floor.

I slump into a seat, fist-bumping Jasper, and clapping Garrett on the shoulder.

"Bloody hell, man. You look tired as."

"Yeah, thanks for that, Gar. Appreciate it."

"He's right, dude," Jasper adds, his brow creasing. "You okay?"

I shrug. "Yeah. I_ am_ tired, but I'm alright."

"You sleeping, okay?" He asks, his eyes narrowing.

"Yeah, fine – just not enough, I guess." My hand scrubs across my face, and I bite my lip on a smile. "Too many late nights on the phone with Bella."

"What's with that?!" The question bursts from Garrett's lips – even he looks surprised by his own perturbation.

"What do you mean?" I take a deep breath, trying to push away the defensiveness I feel rising.

"Katie said you guys are coming to our wedding as each other's dates?"

"Uh, yeah – Oh, shit! I totally forgot to respond, didn't I? I'm so sorry, man."

Garrett waves me off. "Bella sent one, obviously. But, I mean, are you guys fucking serious? Are you – what? Are you back together now?"

"Ah, yeah. Kinda. I mean – yes, we are, but we're like, I dunno – taking it slow."

"Just like that? She disappears for over six months, breaks your fucking heart, and you just … you just take her back, no questions asked?"

"Believe me –" I laugh bitterly, "– I asked a _lot_ of questions."

"I don't get it, hey?"

"Garrett, man." Jasper's voice is quiet, but a warning laces his tone.

"I just … I mean, she's my family, and I love her, I do. But, really – I saw the state you were in when she left. You were like a bloody zombie, mate. How can you let her back in after she did something like that to you? How do you just … forget?"

As frustrated as I am with him for his harsh words, I'm kind of touched by his concern. I let that thought temper the building anger – _he's a good friend._ "I haven't forgotten, Garrett." I shake my head. "But she made a mistake. A big one; one that caused us both a huge amount of pain. I know it and you know it. But, _she_ knows it, too. And … she's changed."

Garrett rolls his eyes and I cut him off before he can say the words I suspect he's itching to get out. "Yeah, I know every idiot who gets back with an ex probably says the same thing, okay? I know it sounds like a fucking cliché, and I know it sounds naïve and foolishly optimistic. But in Bella's case, it's the truth. She's different. She's … well, she's healing. She's, I guess, she's dealing with Jacob's death, she understands how, uh, different my illness is. And she trusts me. Now."

Garrett doesn't look convinced, but drops the subject on a firm look from Jasper.

"So, wedding details all set?"

Garrett deflates visibly at Jazz's question, his head in his hands. "If either of you want to get married … just elope – seriously."

Jasper and I chuckle.

"Yeah, been there, done that." Jasper smirks. "So, Katie's still in full crazy bride mode then?"

"It's not Kate … it's her mum, and mine … and Aunty Renée."

"Bella's mom?"

"Yeah," he groans. "I think she knows it's her only chance." He backtracks quickly as he catches my frown. "Oh! Not because she doesn't think Bells will ever get married. But Bella's so fucking stubborn that there's no way she'd let Renée and Mum go crazy planning it all for her."

"What? But Katie's as stubborn as all hell, too?" Jasper interjects.

"Yeah, she is. But she finds it hard to say no to my family, you know? And her mum's figured that out – so she makes all her suggestions through my mum, and Katie doesn't want to offend anyone. And that's really not fair on Katie – manipulating her like that – so I had to tell Mum to back off. This week has just been ridiculous. I had Katie in tears last night because her mum told her the flowers she wanted were ugly or something. And you should have heard the shouting match they had over Skype when Kate told her she wasn't going to wear a white dress."

"Wedding dresses come in colors?" I ask, scratching my ear. I frown, trying to picture one in blue or green, or that canary yellow Bella was wearing on our date … yeah, it's not happening for me.

Garrett rolls his eyes. "It's called 'blush' or something, I don't know. But her mum totally lost it. Saying everyone would think Katie was a tart or something. I mean, bloody hell, we live together – and they had no problem at all with Katie moving in with me. But, for some reason, for the wedding we have to play-act all virginal? I just don't get it, hey?"

Jasper laughs. "Aw hell, some of the arguments Angie had with her mom … They didn't speak to each other for a week because Angela didn't want the traditional family fruitcake – she wanted chocolate, because she hates raisins. Her mom doesn't even like fruitcake herself, but her great-grandma makes this ridiculously alcoholic thing for every wedding, christening and – I dunno – funeral, in the family. It was a fucking nightmare."

I busy myself with my beer, shuddering as Jasper and Garrett share increasingly insane wedding-madness-related anecdotes. Seriously – why do people put themselves through this shit? Just for one fucking day?

As I drive home a few hours later, a surprising thought flashes through my mind: _Thank fuck Bella is so damn stubborn._

* * *

><p><strong>As ever, I'd love to hear your thoughts.<strong>

**Also, I posted a O/S called "Move Like You Want." You can go to my profile, or check it out here, if you'd like: fanfiction dot net/s/8431129/1/**

**Love, Shell x**


	22. Essence of My Love: Feb  March 2011

**Chapter 21: Essence of My Love**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm updating a li'l early 'cos a) I'll be in class early in the morning when I would normally post, and b) I'm 6.5 hours away from home and miserable, and I felt like posting.**

**The ladies of the DTCPS. I love you all. Writing stuff with you girls inspires me so much**

**MissWinkles: Happy Birthday, gorgeous. Come home soon!**

**Tam: I love you. That is all. And everything.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Essence of My Love<strong>_**, elixir**

_**You've given me the gift of love,  
><strong>__**Abundant and imperishable,  
><strong>__**With it I embrace the world  
><strong>__**You've shown me love; you've shown me love unshackled.**_

_**Cherishing every second of existence  
><strong>__**A smiling love that warms the heart  
><strong>__**Linking friend with foe and burying  
><strong>__**All enmity and acrimony**_

_**Where bravery goes you are my courage  
><strong>__**Where subtlety lies you're my discretion  
><strong>__**Where strength is needed you are my sinew  
><strong>__**Where succor goes you are my comfort  
><strong>__**Where fate leads I will follow  
><strong>__**You will always be, you'll always be the essence of my love.**_

* * *

><p><strong>late Feb 2011.<strong>

The soft lights and muted colors of Dr Banner's waiting room are familiar – warm in their sterility, comforting in their blandness. The out-of-date magazines, the almost subliminally quiet classical music, the suppressed burble of the phone as people call in to book appointments.

Claire, the receptionist, is the epitome of non-threatening. She's probably a bit older than my mom, round and smiling, her blonde hair streaked liberally with grey. I've noticed, too, that she tends to favor pastels – baby pink, sky blue, sage green. Never black, never red, never anything bold or stark – nothing unsettling. I wonder idly if that's her own preference, or if it comes in the job description.

_Now hiring: Psychiatrist's receptionist. Must be maternal, warm, have a good phone manner, and a preference for beige. _

I snort at the direction my thoughts have taken, and the girl sitting beside me looks up from magazine she's pretending to read – dated November 2006 – her brown eyes wide.

I've been in this room countless times over the last few years – jiggling with anxiety, slumped in resignation, or waiting impassively – but this is the first time I've sat here with someone by my side.

"You okay?" Bella asks, her brow creasing.

"Fine, love. Just thinking silly thoughts."

"Okay," she doesn't seem convinced. I hear it in the way she draws out the word. _Ohh-kay_. I take her hand and squeeze it.

"You don't have to wait with me, you know?"

She purses her lips as she studies me. "I know," she says, after a pause. "But I want to."

I nod, taking her hand in both of mine and bringing it to my lips. I understand that she wants to demonstrate her support – prove to me that my illness isn't going to frighten her away or become an obstacle in our relationship. Her being here matters more to her than it does to me – not because I don't care, but because I already believe in her.

"Okay," I tell her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her into my side. "You should go grab a coffee or something, though, while I'm in there."

She smiles up at me, kissing my cheek. "Do you want me to bring you one back, too?"

"Um." I hesitate, which elicits an eye roll from her.

"Do you really think I'd bring you back anything that wasn't up to your standards, baby?"

I chuckle, scrubbing my hand along my jaw. "Then, yes, sweetheart, I'd love one. Thank you."

Bella giggles a little; my belly tightens a little. I wonder if I'll ever grow immune to hearing the overflow of her amusement and delight. I fucking hope not. I never want to take the sound of her laughter for granted.

"Edward?" John Banner's grizzled head appears through his half-open door down the hallway, and I pull myself to my feet.

"I'll be done in an hour, okay, love?" I bend down to kiss Bella's lips quickly.

I take a seat in John's office, the leather couch exhaling under my weight.

"Was that your Bella?" he asks.

"Yeah," I tell him, cringing a little as he rocks back in his desk chair. I'm convinced that one of these days he's going to fall backwards off that creaky piece of shit, and I've told him so a number of times.

He laughs, watching me. "Don't knock the chair."

I raise my hands in surrender. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Yes, you would." He changes the subject quickly. "How are you, Edward?"

There was a time I would have hedged around the subject, and he would have had to ask me question after to question to draw me out, to get me to voice my concerns. However, years of familiarity mean that now, I dive straight in, telling him about the exhaustion, the creeping despair, and the oppressive sadness that is at odds with just how well my life is going. "It's fucking – oh! Sorry."

John shrugs off my apology – I guess he's probably heard a lot worse.

"I mean, I'm actually really happy. Nothing is 'wrong,' but, yeah. I can feel myself sliding downwards, again. It's messed up. I was coping fine with actually being hurt and miserable, but now …" I shake my head. "It just sucks."

After asking me a bunch of questions – everything from how well I'm sleeping and eating, to the nature of my relationship with Bella, and how much stress I'm experiencing at work – he steeples his fingers together, looking at me speculatively. As I suspected, his suggestion is that we increase the dosage of my anti-depressants. I agree easily. I mean, I don't particularly enjoy having to take the damn things, but if it works, it works.

"If the increase doesn't help, we'll try something different, but I'd rather keep you on the same one for now. And, I want to see you in two weeks, okay?" he tells me sternly, pulling the prescription from his printer. "But you're to call me if you experience any symptoms beyond what you can cope with."

"Yeah, of course."

"You should notice an improvement pretty quickly. If there's no change by the time I see you next, we'll need to look at what other medications might suit you."

"Sure."

"Do you have any questions?"

"Uh, can I … I mean, is it okay if I get Bella to come in, and I explain this to her? See if she has any questions?"

"Certainly, if you wish to – as long you're happy to discuss this with her."

I nod. "Yeah, I'll just see if she's back."

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, Bella and I are walking gloved-hand-in-gloved-hand, sipping on rapidly cooling coffee – the rich, strong aroma wafting around us like our own heady cloud.<p>

Bella is quiet, her brows drawn, her eyes on her toes – which are hidden in her red boots. She has hardly spoken since we left Dr Banner's office, but I leave her to her thoughts, letting her process the information.

We stop at a pharmacy so I can fill my prescription, and as we wait, Bella stands between my knees while I sit in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. I wrap my arm around her thighs and rest my head on her belly. Her left hand finds my hair, tugging on it gently but clumsily, her fingers hindered by the thick wool of her gloves.

"Edward?"

"Mmm," I hum against her abdomen, my eyes closed, enjoying her touch.

The words come in a rush, bumping into one another as they trip and stumble out of her mouth. "Do your parents know we're back together?"

"Uh, what?" Okay, that's not at all what I expected her first question to be.

"I mean, have you told them – that I'm back, and that we're … whatever we are."

I pull back and look up at her, studying her face. She's not meeting my eyes – her gaze is fixed on her fingers as they continue to wander through my hair. Her tongue peeks out to wet her lips, and I see her throat work as she swallows nervously.

"You mean – have I told them that you're my girlfriend?" I ask, grinning up at her.

"Uh," she looks down at me, and the smile on my face draws a matching one from her lips. "Is that what I am?"

"Do you want to be?" I ask, poking her waist.

She jumps a little, but nods her head vigorously. "Yeah, I do. Really."

"That's lucky." I chuckle. "Because yes, I called them last Sunday night and told."

"Were they okay with it?" She asks, her bottom lip finding its way between her teeth.

Ah. Suddenly, her nerves make sense. She's worried my parents will hate her for having broken my heart.

"Yes, sweetheart. They're more than okay with it. Mom, well, she told me not long after you left that I shouldn't give up hope. At first, I thought she meant, just in general, you know? Not to give up on finding _someone_. But I think, actually, uh, she always believed you'd come back."

Bella nods, though she still looks uncertain. "Do you think, um …"

"Love?"

"Can we go see them?"

"Now?"

"No! No, no, I don't want to interrupt them. Just … soon – if they're okay with it?"

They will be. "Of course, I'll check with Mom and let you know."

When my name is called, I pay for my meds and tuck the paper bag into my jacket pocket. My hand brushes past my phone, and I pull it out, shooting off a text to Mom before I forget. I'm just putting it back in my pocket when it chimes. I shake my head when I see Mom's reply.

**From Esme Masen:  
><strong>**Come now. Or dinner tonight. Or brunch tomorrow.**

I show Bella, and she smiles softly. "I'm seeing Alice and Rose tomorrow."

"Okay. So … do you want to head over now, or later, or like, next weekend?"

"Umm, I don't mind."

"Let's go now," I suggest. "We'll have a cup of coffee. And then, if you want, we can grab some pizza and a DVD on the way home?"

"Sounds perfect."

* * *

><p>When we arrive at my parents', for the first time in living memory, it is not me that Mom's arms are enveloping as soon as she comes hurtling out of the house. It chokes me up, and I furiously blink against the stinging sensation in the corner of my eyes. Turning my back on Bella, who is currently sobbing into my mother's shoulder, I walk toward the house. Dad is watching the scene from the open front doorway, looking a lot like I feel – so happy he's about to burst into fucking tears.<p>

"Hey, Dad."

"Son." He claps me on the shoulder, and pulls me into a brief but unusually fierce hug. "How are you?"

I shrug. "I'm okay. Good."

"Just good?" he asks, tilting his head toward the two women still standing by my car.

Mom has her hands on Bella's face, cupping her chin. Bella is nodding, wiping at her eyes. I smile as she laughs a little. My breath catches as Mom leans in and kisses her forehead, and I'm sure that in this moment, my heart actually grows a little bigger.

"More than good," I murmur to Dad.

"Let's go put the kettle on. I'm sure they'll realize how cold it is out there soon."

The kitchen is warm, heavy with the scents of cinnamon and sugar. Of course Mom is baking cookies.

The oven starts to beep impatiently just as I hear soft, feminine voices enter the house, accompanied by the sound of Bella sliding off her boots. Mom darts into the kitchen, moving straight to the wailing appliance.

I move away quickly, catching Bella in the hall before she enters the kitchen.

"Are you alright, love?" I ask, wiping the salty streaks from her face.

"Happy tears," she tells me, her voice cracking. "Mostly, anyway."

I pull her into my arms, just because she is there and I can. She is real. Solid and warm in my arms. Here. With me.

When I finally release her, I tip her chin up and kiss her gently.

"I love you," I tell her.

"I love you, too," she laughs, more tears spilling from her dark eyes. She dashes them away.

Her eyes are warm, gold sparks firing in their depths, as she looks up at me. Her face is pale, still streaky and puffy, her nose is running, and her hair is a chaotic mess. She's perfect.

* * *

><p>Bella watches Dad kiss Mom goodbye with a faint smile on her lips. He's working tonight – Saturday night in the ER. I suddenly feel a little guilty about our plans to take off before dinner. I hate the thought of Mom eating alone, as used to it as she may be.<p>

After bidding Dad goodbye, I take Bella's hand while Mom starts collecting the cups and plates from the table and stacking them in the dishwasher.

"I'm not going to be able to eat my dinner," she sighs, rubbing her tummy. "Too many cookies in there."

I snort, and she pokes her tongue out at me. I chuckle as she starts to raise her free hand, but catches herself, her cheeks burning.

I lean in to whisper in her ear. "You were totally going to flip me off. In my Mom's kitchen!" I pull back, shaking my head in mock disappointment.

"Watch it," she warns, jabbing a finger at me.

"Edward?" Dad reopens the door between the kitchen and the garage.

"Yeah?"

"You've parked me in."

"Okay. I'm coming." I drop a kiss to Bella's forehead before I hurry to move my car out of his way.

"Put your car in the garage," Dad suggests as I unlock it. "That way Bella doesn't have to walk out into the cold when you leave."

I nod, my chest expanding: I love the concern my parents have for my girl. It makes me kind of giddy.

As I step back into the kitchen, I hear Bella's soft voice in the living room.

" – I don't want to be keeping anything of myself back from him, you see? But, I d-don't want to forget. How do you do it? How do you remember, without living in the past?"

"It's hard." Mom answers her. "I think I understand what you mean. I, well, I think of Lizzie everyday. And I struggled with it for so long – how do I grieve my daughter, and still be everything my son needs?"

I drop into a chair at the kitchen table, my head spinning as Mom continues.

"Poor Edward, I still carry so much guilt over it. Even years after we lost her, I'd still have days, weeks, where I could barely function. When he was a baby, he didn't know any better, and eventually he was old enough to understand – but the time in between –" She sniffles before continuing " – I just felt so utterly wretched. I still do."

Bella's voice lowers – I hear her gentle murmurs, but can't distinguish the words. I presume they're sweet and caring, though, because Mom responds with one of those laugh-sob sounds women seem to make when they're overwhelmed by someone's kindness.

Silence falls between them for a while. I imagine them side by side on the couch, Bella's head on Mom's shoulder. The image makes me smile.

"It's not that I still love, Jake, you know?" Bella murmurs. "That was, I don't know, young, immature, I suppose. It doesn't even compare to the way I love Edward. But he was my friend, first – Jake. And I miss him. And … our baby."

"Here, let me show you something."

I hear Mom shuffling around, and I can guess what she's pulling off the bookshelf.

"I made this when Edward was five, I think. Just after he started school."

My and Lizzie's baby album.

"It seems silly, perhaps, but finding this way of remembering her, celebrating the brief, precious, time we had with her, actually helped me move forward."

I can hear Bella flipping through the pages quietly.

"Everyone is different, sweetie, and everyone deals with grief differently. But maybe …" Mom's voice wavers a little, "did you have an ultrasound?"

I presume Bella nods, because I don't hear her reply before Mom continues.

"It's only a suggestion, dear, but why not do something with that, and maybe a few photos of Jacob. Document that time of your life."

Bella sniffles. "Yeah. I'll have to see – I left …" I don't catch the rest of her sentence, though I can hear her crying softly before she falls silent.

The quiet extends for so long that I'm about to get up and re-enter the room – until I hear Bella speak again.

"Esme … The other reason I wanted to see you – I wanted to ask … um, how I can best care for Edward, uh, with his depression?"

"Oh, sweetie." Mom sighs. "First and foremost, you have to know that depression isn't something you 'fix,' okay? You treat it, you manage the symptoms, but you can't expect to fix it."

"I know. I understand that, I do. I met his doctor today, and they explained a bit to me. But surely there are, like, practical things I can do to help him, to make his life a bit easier?"

I can't restrain myself long enough to hear Mom's answer. Bella and Mom jump in surprise as I land on my knees in front of Bella, who sits wide-eyed, her hand over her heart.

"Bella," my voice comes out harsh, and I swallow hard to clear my throat. My hands reach for her face, cradling it carefully. "Love, you do. You have. You always knew what I needed, even when you didn't know about my depression. Do you remember?"

She nods, her hands moving to cover mine where they rest against her cheeks.

"If I need anything more – or less – I'll tell you. Truly, sweetheart, that you're even thinking about these things … Just …" I shake my head, words escaping me.

I lay my head into her lap, my arms sliding around her waist. I don't know how long we remain like this – frozen in this strange embrace.

Eventually, Bella's fingers find my ear and she tugs the lobe gently. I smile against her thigh.

"Edward?" Mom's quiet voice reaches me, and I lift my head, turning to look at her. I didn't hear her leave the room, but she must have, because she's now standing in the doorway, not sitting beside Bella on the couch.

"Would you and Bella like to stay for dinner?"

I look up at Bella, who nods quickly.

"That would be lovely, Esme. Thank you."

"Okay." Her footsteps fall away as she retreats to the kitchen.

I realize my knees are aching, and I clamber tiredly onto the couch, grabbing the remote and flicking on the television. I pull Bella against my chest and close my eyes.

I must fall asleep, because the next thing I'm conscious of is Bella shaking me gently.

"Dinner's ready, baby."

* * *

><p>As I navigate the dark streets back to Bella's apartment, my mind is busy filing and cataloguing, trying to process the events of an incredibly emotionally turbulent day.<p>

As I glance at Bella, who is unusually quiet, I suddenly recall something I wanted to understand.

"Bella?"

"Huh?" Her face turns toward me as my voice snaps her from her own thoughts.

"What did you say to Mom tonight? I was listening for a while –" I wonder if I should feel bad for that, but Bella's soft smile makes me think she doesn't really mind.

"Anyway, um, you guys were talking about, uh, Lizzie and Jacob, and Mom was saying how she felt kinda, well, guilty, 'cause of grieving Lizzie and trying to care for me. And you said, uh, something and she made a funny noise." I try to imitate the sound. "Like she was crying, but happy, because you said something that made her feel good. I was wondering what you – I mean, if you don't want to tell me that's okay, really."

Bella's smile becomes a little sad, and she starts to twist the ends of her hair between her fingers.

"I told her, uh …" She sighs. "I said that she shouldn't feel guilty. Because she must have been a truly wonderful mother to have raised a son as loving and caring as you are."

The fervency behind Bella's words renders me speechless. My words stick in my throat, and I try to swallow them down, but they won't budge, caught somewhere between my heart and my mouth. I take a deep breath and force them out.

"I love you, Bella."

Her warm hand covers mine on the gearstick.

"I love you, too."

* * *

><p><strong>March 2011.<strong>

Bella has an interesting relationship with the sea. The rocking and swaying of the ocean, the rise and fall of a boat over cresting waves - these things don't unsettle her. Back on dry land, however, after a day bracing her steps against the deck on a surging yacht, she experiences a strange anti-seasickness. I think she calls it "sea legs." She becomes so familiar with the up-and-down, to-and-fro, constantly readjusting her balance, that she starts to stumble and sway when she finds herself reacquainted with stable, flat surfaces – the dock, footpaths, hallways, kitchen floors – even her bed would seem to undulate beneath her.

When I start the increased dosage of medication, I find out exactly how fucking disorienting and unsettling it must be for her, and I feel a little guilty for all the times I chuckled as I watched her lurch her way around Garrett's house, or moan, dizzy, as she lay in my bed.

I feel as woozy as fuck, like my brain has been replaced with cotton wool, and making it from bed to the bathroom requires far more concentration than it should. Recognizing the foolishness of getting behind the wheel, or my desk, I take the week off work – until my synapses become sufficiently used to the higher levels of chemicals I'm throwing at them.

However, when I emerge from the medicated fog, the change in my mood is noticeable within the week. The monster seems to have been soothed back into its deep slumber – tranquilized, anaesthetized. I feel lighter, sharper, stronger. Myself. It's a huge weight off my shoulders, being able to lay down this burden I've carried for the past few months.

"Baby?"

"Mmm."

Bella turned up on Monday night, arms laden with several days worth of meals that she'd prepared and frozen, then sat me in front of a DVD while she did my laundry. I tried to protest – I'm totally capable of doing all that shit myself – but I think it made her feel better about the situation, so I gave up and fell asleep.

She's dropped over almost every afternoon this week, and now, it's Friday afternoon and she's sitting in the armchair opposite where I'm sprawled out, looking kind of nervous: she's perched on the edge of the seat, her hands in her lap, rather than lying across it sideways with her legs hanging over the arm as she prefers.

"Will you do something for me?" she asks.

"Probably," I tell her – because it's the truth.

"Do you, uh … I mean, I haven't heard you – and if you don't want to –"

"What would you like me to do, sweetheart?"

"Will you play for me?"

"Play?" I look at her blankly, puzzled – until I see her eyes are on my guitar case, nestled against the wall under the television. "Oh."

I swing my legs off the couch and crawl over to the case, quickly flipping the clasps open. I cross my legs and pull the guitar from its velvet-lined tomb. One string is broken.

I rummage through my case, and am pleased to find a spare set. I replace them all, gaining an odd sense of satisfaction in performing this routine task – something I've done dozens of times over the years. The curls of excess wire that stick out from the headstock seem strangely cheerful in their chaos, bouncing and swaying in every direction.

I close my eyes as I strum a few chords, fiddling with the tuning until I'm satisfied. I start to pick out one of the first songs I cobbled together, letting the notes wash over me. I haven't taken the time to sit down and play for so long – I haven't really wanted to.

"What do you want me to play?" I ask Bella, my eyes still closed.

"Whatever you feel like," she tells me. I can hear the smile in her voice, and my lips turn up in response.

I strum absently, before I chuckle, and start to pluck out a melody. Bella groans as she recognizes it, and I feel the wind of a cushion whooshing past my head. My eyes open to see Bella glaring at me, which makes me laugh harder.

"Seriously, I'll throw something heavier if you don't stop now."

"You said to play whatever I felt like," I remind her.

"Let me clarify – whatever you feel like, as long as it's not 'Careless Whisper,'" she sighs.

"Fine, fine." I dig through the recesses of my mind trying to find something that I know she'll like.

Inspiration hits and I have to chuckle at the inappropriateness of the song that's starting to flow out from under my fingertips.

Bella takes only a few seconds to clue in.

"Fuck, yes!" she shouts, her smile wide. "I can't believe you remembered!"

She bounces around in her chair a little, her eyes sparking with excitement. Why have I never done this for her before now? Her smile looks as though it could split her face.

"Sing if for me, Edward. You gotta!" she shrieks.

I roll my eyes, but of course, I acquiesce – picking up the lyric – to her delight.

"_Millionaire say, got a big shot deal  
><em>_And thrown it all away but I'm not too sure  
><em>_How I'm supposed to feel  
><em>_Or what I'm supposed to say, but_

_I'm not, not sure  
><em>_Not too sure how it feels  
><em>_To handle every day  
><em>_And I miss you, love_

_Make room for the prey 'cause I'm comin' in  
><em>_With what I wanna say, but  
><em>_It's gonna hurt and I love the pain  
><em>_A breeding ground for hate, but_

_I'm not, not sure  
><em>_Not too sure how it feel  
><em>_To handle everyday  
><em>_Like the one that just passed  
><em>_In the crowds of all the people_"

She joins in, slightly off-key, but wonderful in her joy.

"_Remember today  
><em>_I've no respect for you  
><em>_And I miss you, love  
><em>_And I miss you, love_

_I love the way you love but I hate the way  
><em>_I'm supposed to love you back  
><em>_And it's just a fad  
><em>_Part of the teenage, angst brigade,_"

I shake my head as she jumps up on the couch, wailing and screeching.

"_I'm not, not sure  
><em>_Not too sure how it feels  
><em>_To handle everyday  
><em>_Like the one that just past  
><em>_In the crowds of all the people_

_Remember today  
><em>_I've no respect for you  
><em>_And I miss you, love  
><em>_And I miss you, love_

_Remember today  
><em>_I've no respect for you  
><em>_And I miss you, love  
><em>_And I miss you_

_I love the way you love but I hate the way  
><em>_I'm supposed to love you back._"

I push my guitar off my lap, and scramble to my feet, desperate to get to her.

She grins down at me, and as soon as I step close enough, she leaps from the couch. Unprepared, I don't have time to brace myself, and we hit the floor, a pile of tangled limbs.

"Oh shit! Are you okay, baby?" she asks, peering down at my face from where she is sprawled over my chest.

"Uhhh, yeah, I'm fine." I groan. I _am_ – just a little winded – again.

"I'm sorry – I got a little carried away."

"No kidding." I chuckle – it hurts. "Ughhh."

"That was the night Garrett punched you."

"Huh?" I lift my head to look at her.

"You guessed this – that the first album I bought was _Neon Ballroom_. And then Garrett punched you."

"Oh, yeah, I gotchya. I remember." My hand goes to my cheek as I recall the blow.

Bella sighs. "I fucking loved Silverchair. I wanted to marry Daniel Johns."

"Is that right?" I ask, smirking up at her.

"Uh huh. He was so sexy." Bella gets this faraway look in her eyes, and it makes me a little jealous.

I roll us over, chuckling as she gasps. My elbows frame her head, my legs are cradled between hers. I pause, my lips a whisper from hers.

The look in her dark eyes, now, is everything.

The muscles in her stomach contract under me, and then her arms are around my neck, my lips are against hers, and she is all that I can see and smell and taste and feel.

She is everything.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading lovely ones.<strong>

**I love hearing all your thoughts :)**

**Shell x**


	23. Valium: March 2011

**Chapter 22: Valium**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Early update as I'm _still_ away at uni, and I'll be in class tomorrow morning. My sincerest apologies for my failure to reply to all your beautiful reviews - I will get to them!**

**Tam, I love you, my sweet-voiced, sweet girl. Thank you for all the help and encouragement you give me!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Valium<strong>_**, Lisa Mitchell**

_**Sometimes your love  
><strong>__**It's so pretty I just wanna sink in  
><strong>__**And sometimes your heart  
><strong>__**Well, it's so pretty I just wanna live there**_

_**Well, I wish I could bottle it up  
><strong>__**And breathe it back like Valium  
><strong>__**And sometimes your heart it's so pretty  
><strong>__**I just wanna live there**_

_**So when I find a scientist to help me  
><strong>__**And if I meet the maker of all the universe  
><strong>__**I'll ask him why we're here and what we're here for  
><strong>__**And I'll tell them all the stories about our little world**_

_**Well, I've been waiting  
><strong>__**Well, I've been waiting**_

_**Sometimes your love it's so quiet  
><strong>__**I don't even need to speak  
><strong>__**Sometimes your heart it's so loud  
><strong>__**I can't even hear the beat**_

* * *

><p><strong>March 2011.<strong>

"Why are you so damn excited?" I grumble, knotting the tie Bella handed me when she arrived.

She laughs, her hand on my shoulder, turning me away from the bathroom mirror. I shrug on my jacket, smiling at her as she straightens my collar and smoothes out my lapels.

"Free food, open bar. What's not to be excited about?"

"Sitting through boring speeches and watching crazy relatives dance all night?" I suggest.

Bella folds her arms across her chest, which, helpfully, draws my attention to her boobs and immediately improves my mood. I'm hoping to become reacquainted with them soon.

"Those are _my_ crazy relatives you're talking about!"

"No, I totally meant Katie's family."

She giggles. "Sure you did."

A bunch of things I should have clued in on months ago suddenly click into place in my brain. "Your family's going to be there," I say, stupidly.

Bella nods, looking a little concerned. "Is that a problem?"

"No, no. I just … No, not at all. I just didn't realize."

She steps closer to me, reaching for my hands. "I'm sorry. Maybe we should have talked about this."

"It's fine, love. I just can't believe I didn't realize I'd be meeting your parents today."

"Just Mom and Phil."

"Huh?"

"Dad's not coming. My parents split when I was really young – Aunty Maggie and Peter were living in Australia. I don't think Dad's even met Garrett."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Family shit kinda sucks. Let's just hope Aunty Maggie doesn't decide to start something with Charlie."

"What? You just said your Dad wouldn't be there."

Bella rolls her eyes at me. "Peter's girlfriend. Her name is Charlotte – she goes by Charlie."

"Ah."

"Yeah. She's younger than Garrett."

My eyes widen a little. I'll bet that went down well with his mom.

"Yep. Fun times, all right." Bella snorts. "This is why we need an open bar."

"That's exactly why you shouldn't have an open bar," I counter.

"Touché." Bella laughs a little before her expression becomes serious. "Are you okay with this? I don't want you to feel, like … ambushed by my crazy family."

"It's fine, sweetheart, really."

"Okay." She smiles. "Now, tell me. Do I look okay?"

I tap my finger against my chin, looking her up and down, then gesturing for her to spin around for me. Her strapless dress is the color of storm clouds, a warm grey-silver, and it flows to her knees in a river of soft, shiny fabric, her creamy skin almost glowing in contrast.

"If I pull this bow, will your dress unravel?" I ask her, smirking a little at the mental image I've conjured.

Bella giggles. "You can try it and see – later." Her cheeks flood with pink. Beautiful.

I swallow hard, saying nothing as I continue my perusal of her form. She shivers a little as my greedy eyes walk across her flesh, admiring the soft hollows of her collarbones, her smooth, tempting skin. _Fuck_. My fingers twitch, they ache to wander the path my gaze is taking.

Her dark hair is kind of up but is doing that sort of fancy-messy thing – shiny curls escaping to cling to the curve of her neck. Her eye make-up is dark, shadows and smoke, and her lips are painted rose-pink – the same color as her shiny heels.

I pout a little. "_Pink_ shoes, Bella?"

She shrugs. "You don't like them?" She actually looks a little disappointed.

_I'm an idiot._

"They're sexy as fuck, love." I tell her, my voice thick. "And, so you know, you don't just look _okay_. You're stunning. Gorgeous."

Her smile is coy, flirtatious – but her eyes shine with her appreciation of my words. "Thank you," she murmurs.

"You have your lipstick in your purse thingy, don't you?" I ask, as I move close, my arms sliding around her waist.

She nods, her breathing quickening, her eyes on my mouth.

"You'll probably need to reapply it," I warn her, before I crush my mouth against hers.

I kiss her hard and long, pouring every ounce of the desire that is consuming me into it. I try to show her how fiercely I want her, how deeply I ache for her – things I'm not sure I can put into words just yet. When she gasps against my lips, I think she understands. When her body melts against mine, I know she can _feel_ it – just how she affects me is becoming rather obvious.

She pulls away, panting, but I haven't yet had my fill. My lips move across her jaw and down her neck, kissing and tasting. Sexy noises of want and desire fill the room and I push my hips against her, grinning against her skin at the little "uhh" that falls from her lips.

"We … we … Edward, we don't have time … Oh … _fuck_." She curses as I push my leg between her thighs.

No time.

We have no time.

I pull my lips from her skin reluctantly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be ridiculous." Bella shakes her head at me, her chest still rising and falling quickly.

I speak on impulse. "Stay here tonight? After the reception."

Bella smiles, but I sense her hesitation – it's there in the way she licks her lips before she speaks, the way she softens her voice. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. No. I don't know."

"There's no rush, baby. That stuff can wait."

"I know." I shove my hands in my pockets, grimacing as I adjust myself. "I just … don't get me wrong, I want _that_ … when we're ready, but I just …" I trail off, my eyes on my shoes.

"Tell me, baby. You know I'll give you whatever you want, whatever you need."

"I want you to be here when I wake up," I tell my toes.

Bella's silence echoes loudly between us.

"I don't … I mean, I'm not saying like … _fuck_ … I'm not saying like we should move in together or anything. I just … like … just for tonight. I mean, I'd just like to wake up and you be the first thing I see, just for one morning. But it's cool, if you don't want to, if it's too soon, it's fine – I'll drive you home after –"

My head snaps up as Bella lets out a soft, choking noise.

Her shaky hands are pressed against her lips, her eyes squeezed shut – she looks like she's in pain.

"Love, are you okay? Bella!"

"I'm okay," she whispers, her voice breaking. "Just trying not to cry," she sniffles. "I didn't think to wear waterproof mascara."

_Fuck_. My heart squeezes painfully. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Just … ignore me, okay? Don't worry about it."

"Stop apologizing. Please." Her eyes open, and I rock back on my heels at the fierceness I see there.

"I –"

She takes a deep breath before her she speaks. Her words are steady, clear, and they almost bring me to my knees. "Yes. Yes, I want to stay tonight. I want to stay with you every night that you want me to. I've wasted – squandered – far too many nights away from you. And yeah, it probably _is_ too early for us to move in together. But know this, Edward – when you ask, I'll say yes."

It's my turn to squeeze my eyes shut as my heart thunders against my ribcage – it feels as though each beat is pumping overwhelming emotion into my bloodstream, like the frantically pounding muscle is expanding, inflating, depriving my lungs of the space they need to fill themselves with oxygen.

Bella's hand finds my cheek as she continues, her sweet voice ringing in my ears. "Baby, I wouldn't have come back if I wasn't in this forever. But I am, and I did. Okay? You'll have to send me away." She pauses, chuckling a little. "And even then, I might not go."

"Forever?" The word tastes a little strange to me.

"As long as you want me."

"Always." I tell her, opening my eyes.

"I love you," she promises.

And she does. I know she does. I feel it in the warmth of her hand against my face. I can see it shining in her eyes as I cover her fingers with my own.

"As I love you."

* * *

><p>I shift in my seat, and Bella's hand finds my thigh.<p>

She's smiling, her eyes on her cousin as he fumbles his way through his vows.

Weddings are a little bizarre.

Garrett has seemed kind of nonchalant about the whole thing. When I asked him last week how he was feeling about it, he pointed out that marrying Katie would make very little difference to either of their lives. For them, this is just a change in their legal status.

It seems peculiar to me then, the amount of effort and energy they're putting in to this – if that's all they see it as. All the fights about dress colors, cake flavors, flower arrangements – all that other bullshit – for what? For a piece of paper that binds them together, legally?

Seems sort of silly.

I think about the promises Bella and I made just an hour ago: I love yous exchanged, always and forever declared. They seem every bit as binding, to me, as the words the couple in front of us are speaking at the altar of this cavernous church.

Garrett and Katie slide gold bands onto each other's fingers, speak a few more words, and then … they're married.

Just like that.

How strange.

I glance at Bella from the corner of my eyes, grinning when I see she's looking at me, too.

She has a strangely speculative look in her eyes, and her smile is a little … embarrassed? Her cheeks are a little pink.

I lean closer to her. "Are you blushing?" I whisper, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

She shakes her head, but her cheeks glow brighter.

My thoughts are interrupted as the minister presents the newly married husband and wife to the congregation.

Everyone is on their feet, cheering and clapping when a thought strikes me.

I grab Bella's arm, pulling her against my chest as people begin to spill from the aisles, following Garrett and Katie out of the church. My arms slide around her waist, trapping her against me.

"Tell me what you were thinking, love? That made you blush so prettily."

She shakes her head. "Nothing."

"Bullshit."

"I'm not going to tell you, uhhh …" She trails off as my nose traces down the line of her neck.

"You won't tell me?" I murmur against her throat.

She gasps and her voice is shaky – her denial doesn't sound so certain, now. "Um, no?"

"Don't be shy, love." I tell her, my tongue peeking out to taste her neck. "It's just me."

"Edward," she hisses. "We're in a church."

"Mmm. And? Aren't churches places for _confession_?"

Bella sighs, and I pull away from her. Her eyes are on her shoes. "I don't want to say, baby. Not … not yet."

My finger curls under her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. "Love, I won't push you. But you have to know, by now, that you can't scare me off. No matter what you were thinking."

Her eyes dart back toward the front of the church and it clicks into place for me.

She was imagining her own wedding.

Images flash rapid fire through my brain: myself, standing at the front of a church, waiting; Bella, in a pretty white dress; the two of us making promises of forever and always in front of friends and family.

I get it.

I want it.

I contemplate teasing her some more, but I decide I'd rather kiss her. So I do. She gasps in surprise, but surrenders immediately, her lips responding to mine with an eagerness that sets something in my gut fluttering.

"I love you," I tell her, when I reluctantly pull away.

She smiles up at me, looking a little dazed. "As I love you."

* * *

><p>"Uh, hey guys." Garrett fidgets, his finger hooked under the collar of his shirt.<p>

I stretch my legs out under the table, twisting my lower back a little. These speeches have been going for-fucking-ever – well over an hour, now.

Katie's Dad did the usual "hurt my daughter and I'll shoot your ass," leaving Garrett's Mom the similarly clichéd: "I always wanted a daughter and now I have one." Katie's maid of honor, who I think may be her younger sister – Brianna or Bree or something like that – told some funny childhood stories and got all weepy. And Liam, Garrett's best friend from high school, told a bunch of lewd jokes, his accent thickened with beer and virtually unintelligible – which was probably a good thing, actually.

"I'll keep this short," he says. _Well, thank fuck for that._

"But, ah, we … Well, Kate and I just wanted to thank you all for being here today, hey? It means heaps to us that you're all here to celebrate with us. I guess I'm not the most romantic guy around, but today's been pretty bloody special. So, yeah, I just wanted to thank our families for their support, and for helping make today happen. Thanks, too, to everyone who's travelled a long way to be here – I know some of you guys have come in from San Francisco, and Florida, and from Australia – and we're heaps stoked that you've been able to join us today."

He turns to Katie, his grin stretching across his face as he looks at his new wife.

"Katie, I, uh. Pretty sure it was almost exactly two years ago that I told Edward I was gonna marry you." He looks my way, and I nod my head, smiling a little, and tipping the beer in my hand toward him.

"I think I might have known it sooner than that, to be honest. Life's just better with you in it. You're my best friend, you're beautiful and smart, and you make me laugh. And you're not afraid to call me out when I'm being a dickhead." He pushes the hair out of his eyes, smirking a little.

"I love you heaps, babe. And I can't wait to spend every day of my life telling you that, and showing you that. I'll probably stuff up a bit, I reckon." He grins at the chuckles that follow his admission. "But you already know that, and you still agreed to marry me. I'm not perfect, and neither are you. I think we're pretty perfect together but."

I stifle a laugh as Katie's relatives look at him blankly. I know exactly what they're all thinking. _But what?_

Bella snickers beside me. "Idiot," she murmurs. " '_But_, I think we're pretty perfect together.' I don't know how many times I've told him he can't use 'but' in place of a period."

Garrett's weird-ass sentence structure is quickly forgotten, however, as he turns to Katie and kisses her so thoroughly that some of the older relatives start clicking their tongues in disapproval. Poor bastard can't win.

* * *

><p>Renée and Maggie are kind of frightening, I decide, as I'm bounced between them for several dances. Firstly, they look so alike I have to make up a stupid mnemonic just to keep track of which one is which: <em>Rennnnée in navy, Maggggggie in green.<em> And secondly, they're both a little handsy and a lot tipsy.

I shoot a glance at Bella over Maggie's shoulder, grimacing at her as she giggles. She takes pity on me though, winking at me before she extricates herself from whichever relative she's been dancing with and makes her way toward me.

"Auntie Maggie, can I have my boyfriend back, please? I haven't really had much of a chance to dance with him."

"Isabella! Oh, my dear, of course," she says, her speech slurring. "He's a pretty boy, isn't he? Don't let this one out of your sight. I'd steal him for myself if he was a bit older … Not that age stopped my ex-husband." She looks at me speculatively. It's fucking creepy.

Bella winces – grabbing my hand and pulling me away from her aunt, who looks like she's building up a head of steam.

"Sorry, baby."

I shrug. "You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart."

Glancing toward where Maggie now stands gossiping with her sister, I pull Bella into my arms and we sway slowly to whatever is playing – I don't care enough to decipher it – my focus is on the warm skin of the girl in my arms.

"They look very alike."

"They're twins, baby."

"Really?"

Bella nods, her lip between her teeth, her eyes cautious.

"Do you think we'd have twins, then?" I ask. "Since I'm a twin, and your Mom is, too?"

The words are out of my mouth and hanging in the air between us before my brain engages. Bella freezes, her eyes wide, her lips parted.

_I'm a fucking idiot. _

"Shit. Love, I'm sorry. That was … _fuck_ … I'm an insensitive ass. I'm sorry."

She continues to stare at me, and I start to panic. What was I thinking? Bringing up children – when I know all too well the depths of her loss?

"Edward?"

I exhale in relief when she finally speaks, though her voice is strained, higher in pitch than usual.

"You, uh … you think about, well, _us_ having kids?"

My brows pull together as I study her. She's not upset. She seems surprised, but in a good way?

"Um, not often?"

"Are you telling me or asking me?" Her lips flirt with a smile, and I'm really fucking confused.

I look over her head as I answer. "Yeah, I've thought about it, okay? I mean, not very often, but on occasion. And, I don't know … I was just thinking, if there's twins on both sides of our family, maybe that would make it more likely that we'd have twins, too. You know – if we did have kids. But, I … well, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to upset you …" I trail off, uncertain.

"Baby, look at me."

Her eyes are gentle when I meet them.

"I'm not upset, okay?"

I nod, relieved.

"I think about it, too. Not a lot. I mean, I think we're too young – and we've still got shit to work out and whatever. But the thing is – when I do think about that stuff – it's always with _you_. I mean, lots of those things are like, kind of vague in my mind, kind of … sometime in the future sorts of things. But _you're_ not."

She pauses, gauging my reaction. I wonder vaguely what I look like, if she can see the way I'm falling harder for her with every word she speaks.

"You asked me, in the church, what I was thinking about? I was thinking about what it would be like if it were you up there, waiting for me. I don't … I don't really give a shit about flowers or cakes or dresses or whatever, you know? Those aren't the things I was thinking about. But I was thinking about you. And I was thinking about making those promises –"

"Forever and always," I interrupt. "Me, too."

Her smile blinds me. "Yes. Forever and always. But … we, well –"

"We made them this morning?" I ask.

"Well, yeah."

Unable to find words, I press my lips to hers, kissing her as deeply as I dare, surrounded as we are by her crazy fucking family.

Finally, finally Garrett and Katie throw her flowers and that lacy thing he somehow magicked out from under her skirt. I don't know how he didn't suffocate under all that fabric – the skirt of her dress is pretty fucking enormous. I comment on this to Bella, who side-eyes me and explains what a hoop skirt is. Fucking weird.

And then I don't give a shit about wedding dress construction, because the happy couple are folding themselves into the waiting limo and this whole shebang is over.

"Can we go now?" I ask Bella.

"Please, yes." She groans. "Get me away from here."

Laughing, we duck out, trying to avoid Bella's relatives.

"I'll catch most of them over the next couple of days, anyway," she tells me, shrugging. "Lots of them came out here for the whole week."

* * *

><p>"I like this," Bella tells me, holding her glass up to the light. "It's such a pretty color."<p>

"You should get shoes this color," I tell her, looking at her bare feet – which are still lying in my lap after her unsuccessful attempt at getting me to rub them.

"I should. What is it?" She spins the almost empty bottle around to read the label. "Zinfandel. Do you think if I went to a shoe shop and asked for Zinfandel colored shoes they'd be able to accodo … uh, accommodate me?"

"Take a glass of it with you," I suggest, squeezing her toes. My mind feels a little fuzzy, and my cheeks are hot with the effects of the wine.

Bella eyes her glass seriously. "No, I think I'd rather drink it – it's even tastier than it is pretty. Plus, I'd totally spill it in the car."

"Good point," I acknowledge.

I examine my own glass, which is still half full. I suspect I've had enough, though, so I set it back on the table.

Bella notices my empty hands and starts kicking at them with her feet. "Foot rub!"

"Fine, fine." I pick up her left foot and press my thumbs into the arch, circling them gently.

We sit in comfortable silence as I rub first this foot, then her other for a few minutes.

"Thank you, baby." She sighs happily as I drop her feet back into my lap and try to stretch out the cramped muscles in my hands.

"Do you want to go to bed?" I ask, yawning.

"No! Not yet. Let's play a game!"

I groan. "Like what?"

"Scrabble!" She grins. "Do you have it?"

"Think so. In my closet." I wave a hand toward my bedroom. "But you're the one who wants to play, so you can go get it."

"Fine. I will." Bella swings her feet off my lap and jumps to her feet. She picks up my suit jacket off the back of the couch. "I'll hang this up for you."

"Don't worry, I need to get it dry-cleaned –" I break off, shrugging – she's already gone, taking my jacket with her.

I tip my head back, closing my eyes, waiting for Bella to bounce back into the room and demand I allow her to kick my ass in Scrabble, or whatever other game she finds stashed back there that may take her fancy.

But she doesn't come, and I can't hear her rooting around in my closet. In fact, my apartment is really quiet – unsettlingly so.

"Bella?" I frown, wondering what could be keeping her. "Sweetheart, are you okay?"

No answer.

I drag myself to my feet, pleased to find that my steps are steady as I hurry toward my bedroom.

As soon as I see the vibrant splash of crimson, understanding rushes to me.

Apprehension colors my voice. "Love?"

Bella is sitting on the floor, her old comforter in her lap.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, looking up at me as I lower myself to the ground and reach for her hand. Tears track down her cheeks, streaking her face with black, and my heart feels like it's landed in my stomach.

"I, uh, I'm sorry. I brought it with me when I moved out of Garrett's place."

"I know." She sniffles. "Well, I kind of hoped that you did. Garrett had a bunch of my stuff sent to San Francisco for me, and when I asked, he said this wasn't there. I, well … I kind of liked the idea that you might have had it – that you might have wanted it. Wanted something of mine … with you."

"I had it on my bed for quite a while," I admit, my eyes fixed on the bright red and orange swirls. "I, just, well, I didn't want to let go of you."

"When … when did you take it off?" she asks, her voice wavering.

I look up at her as I answer. "After Christmas. I, uh, well, I met this girl."

Bella's eyes widen, and I shake my head, squeezing her hand firmly.

"No! No, I mean, I literally spoke to her for five minutes. I can't even remember her name, but she made fun of my shoes."

Her lips twitch, and I reach my free hand out to tuck a few of her unwinding curls behind her ear.

"Jasper told me it was stupid to even think about dating when you still had my heart. And I guess, I didn't know if you were going to come back. So, I … well, I figured I had to move forward. You know? Not so I could date some other girl, or whatever, but just for myself. For my own sake. And I _was_, moving forward. I uh …" My free hand finds my hair, pushing through it roughly.

"I talked to you, you know – like you were here. I told you that I missed you like crazy, and that I still loved you – but that I could survive without you. That I _was_ surviving without you. So, that night, I took this off my bed."

Bella's eyes are on the comforter when she speaks. "Sh-should I not have come back? I mean, if you were moving on –"

"Bella, please. Stop, okay? I need you to understand this. Yes, you hurt me. But you know that."

"Yeah, I do." She sniffles again. "I guess, finding this –" she shakes a handful of the bright fabric, "– brought it home to me exactly how much I hurt you. I mean, I knew it … but …"

"Seeing it made it – somehow – more real?"

"Yeah." She nods, wiping her nose on her wrist. "I'm so sorry."

"Please, love. No more apologies. I was saying – Yes, you hurt me. Yes, I still loved you, the whole time you were gone. But I didn't, well, I didn't … come back into this relationship because I _couldn't_ let you go. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

"I don't know – I, um, I think so. Maybe."

I sigh, searching for the words. "I guess, uh, it's not just a matter of … _taking you back_ – for lack of a better expression – because I hadn't been able to deal with you leaving. I was moving on, okay? Growing. Healing. Us, being together now, it's because it's what I – we – want. Not because it was just … easier than falling back into our old patterns. _Fuck_. Not because I don't know how to function without you; not because I, um, _can't_ be without you."

I drag myself to my feet, offering Bella my hand. She lets me pull her upright, and my arms move immediately to enclose her, to fold her into my embrace.

"Sweetheart, I _choose_ to be with you, now, and always. I choose to forgive you for leaving – and to put it behind us. I'm not going to hold it against you – you know this. So please – please, love, don't hold it against yourself anymore, okay?"

She nods against my chest, and my arms tighten a little. It feels so good, so right, to hold her so close. But I pull back a little, tipping her chin so I can meet her eyes.

"I love you, Bella."

A funny little choke-sob escapes from her lips before she speaks. "I love you, too."

She stands on her tiptoes, her arms moving to curl around my neck and pull my face down to hers. I smile as she pushes her lips against my forehead, each cheek, then she brushes her mouth against mine.

"I love you," she tells me again, her breath a warm whisper between my parted lips.

I want to grab her and kiss her until neither of us can breathe, but I wait. I wait, still, as she cups my jaw with one hand, as she traces the planes of my face with the other. I wait as she tells me, once more, "I love you," her dark eyes shining with the truth of her words.

And then her mouth meets mine again, and the restraints with which I've bound myself fall away, dissolving into nothingness, as lips, tongues and breath become so mingled that I cannot tell where I end and she begins. I'm so utterly consumed by her – her taste, her skin under my fingertips, her sweet fragrance, _her_ _love_.

Her fingers are at the buttons of my shirt, trembling, fumbling, and for three seconds, I wonder if this is right, if it's too soon. And then I feel her "I love you," murmured against my neck and I can't fight this – I don't want to. I'm hers.

And this is so very right.

My fingers are clumsy, tugging on the bow of her dress impatiently. It's not unraveling. Bella giggles into my mouth, grabbing my hand and showing me the zipper that's hidden under her arm, running down the side of her dress. She's pushing my shirt off my shoulders and I'm sliding her zipper down, pushing the gauzy storm clouds of her dress to the floor. Her hands are at my belt buckle, and mine are on her breasts, kneading, pinching – greedy. Her head falls back as she moans, pushing herself further into my grasp, and I'm trying to step out of my pants while walking her toward the bed. I stumble, my suit pants at my knees, and I curse, reluctantly removing my hands from her skin just long enough to rid myself of these fucking clothes.

Stripped bare before her, I hook my fingertips into the sides of her panties, searching her eyes. She nods, her dark hair escaping its pins, falling around her face, caressing the skin along her shoulders. I drag the lace down her legs, and her hands move to my shoulders as I kneel before her.

"No," she shakes her head, trying to pull me back to my feet. "Not now, please. I just want _you_. Please."

Somehow we find our way onto the bed, hips grinding, backs arching, lips searching. And then I am inside her, and it's so, so right, and the noises that fill the room can't possibly be coming from me, but they are because we're together, completely, again, and it's fucking exquisite.

Whimpers and groans and pleas echo around me, underscored by the symphony of bodies colliding and lips searching and skin slipping. She calls my name and I call hers, and then I fall, and I'm lost. Or I'm truly found. I can't tell. I'm suspended in this bliss, surrounded by _Bella_, awash in sensation, and I think that maybe, for this moment, the world has paused in its eternal rotation.

When the globe begins to turn again, Bella is still here in my arms and we're crying and laughing and sleepy-sated. I push her hair from her face and we whisper words of love, of forever and always until blinks become slow and limbs become heavy and words start to slur. Finally, we surrender to the sweetest kind of sleep – the sleep that starts with goodnight and will end with good morning.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sooo ... <strong>_**my friends BelieveItOrNot, dreaminginnorweigen, dragonfly366, moirae and I got together recently and wrote a sexy little O/S for IReenH's birthday. If you want to read it, it's here:** fanfiction s/8478268/1/Lips-Like-Sugar

* * *

><p><em><strong>PSA time.<strong>_

_Help us spread awareness of Peace Day, an annual day of global ceasefire and non-violence._

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_This year, Peace One Day is working to see the largest global reduction of violence, and the largest gathering of individuals in the name of peace, on one day – Peace Day 2012. The Global Truce 2012 campaign will set an important marker for future Peace Days and reinforce the value of this unique annual day as a foundation for long-term sustainable peace._

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_Tell your friends! Share this message with friends both in your fandom, in other fandoms, and in the RL! Peace Day, September 21, is everyone's legacy. And if it isn't everyone's, it's not going to work._


	24. The Fear: March 2011 cont

**Chapter 23: The Fire.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Um, yeah. This is the last regular chapter of _The Loving Kind_. I don't know whether to be happy or really sad about that. I've written an epilogue and an outtake, which I will post soon.**

**To the ladies of the DTCPS - you all amaze and inspire me.**

**Tam. Thank you. Your help over the past few months has been amazing. Thank you for your time, your patience, your encouragement. YMFC, bb x**

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Fire<strong>_**, Ben Howard**

_**Lie here 'til your world stops spinning round  
><strong>__**Lie near me 'til the birds start singing out  
><strong>__**Come, show me what it is to be warm:  
><strong>__**Be my shelter and I'll be your storm.**_

_**Come, lie down 'til the four winds cease to blow  
><strong>__**Lie here full of rivers that you know.  
><strong>__**And I'll make your bones shake, the sweat we take from hearts still battered and worn.  
><strong>__**Be my shelter and I'll be your storm.**_

_**And we'll show the fire,  
><strong>__**We'll show the fire how to burn.  
><strong>__**Yeah, we'll show the fire,  
><strong>__**We'll show the fire how to burn.**_

_**I don't know, I don't know where you came from,  
><strong>__**Honey, God's been smiling.  
><strong>__**I don't know, I don't know where the rain's gone  
><strong>__**But it's been a while, been a while now.**_

* * *

><p><strong>March 2011.<strong>

"Edward! Wake up, baby."

_What? Why? _I'm so fucking comfortable and content. Bella's naked body is pressed against mine, her skin soft and warm with sleep. My arm is around her waist, and I tighten it, needing her closer, always closer.

Bella's voice is still scratchy with sleep. "Baby, please – wake up."

I try to tell her I don't want to, but the sounds mush together – I'm not awake enough to remember where the spaces between words should lie.

She starts to squirm and wriggle against me, and while the rest of my body fights to stay asleep, at least one part of me is very aware of the extremely naked girl rubbing her ass against it. "Edward! Wake up! Come on. I have to pee."

_Why, exactly, do I need to wake up for her to do that?_ I open one eye, and my lips stretch lazily when I see the tangles of her dark hair spread across my pillow. Letting my heavy lids fall shut again, I lift my arm from her waist, releasing her – but she doesn't climb out of bed.

"Baby, come on. Please." I feel the mattress shaking as she rolls over, but she still hasn't left the bed.

I force my eyes open again, trying to focus on the sweet face of the girl in my bed.

"It's still fucking night time," I complain as I look past her. She has flicked on the lamp beside my bed, and the clock beside it tells me it's only 3:45am.

"I know, I'm sorry, but I really need to use the bathroom."

Maybe it's the hour, but I still can't make sense of her words.

"It's just there," I mumble, my arm waving vaguely in the direction of my bathroom door.

Bella's giggle rings in my ears, and in spite of my confusion – and my being awake against my will – the sound makes my stomach flip-flop.

"I know where it is. I just … baby, sit up. Please. I just, I don't want you to wake up without me beside you."

Reluctantly, I drag my heavy limbs around until I'm sitting against the headboard. "Huh?"

Bella sits cross-legged in front of me, reaching for my hand and linking our fingers. She's still extremely naked. I drag my eyes to her face, trying to focus on the soft words spilling from her lips.

"I just, well, the last time we were really together, that way, I, uh, I ran away. And I, well, I didn't want you to wake up while I was in the bathroom and think …" She breaks off, sighing. "Sorry, maybe I'm being dumb."

Her words take a while to soak from the air into my still-sleepy, not-looking-at-her-boobs brain.

"Sweetheart –" My own heart is banging around in my chest, its pace quickening as my girl's crazy-sweet thoughtfulness finally registers.

I pull our entwined hands to my mouth. "Thank you," I tell her, pressing my lips against the back of her hand. "Now, go pee so we can go back to sleep."

She grins as she bounces off the bed. "Be right back."

She returns quickly, while I'm having a silent conversation with the one part of my body that is really fucking enthusiastic about being awake with naked Bella.

"Good morning." Her smile is wicked as she pulls the sheets and covers off my lap.

I'm about to protest, but when she climbs over me, straddling me on her knees, her breasts right fucking _there_ in front of my eyes, the rest of me is suddenly very onboard with being woken well before dawn.

"Good morning, Bella." My voice is low, rough with sleep and desire.

"Well, it seems you're not completely averse to being woken early," she chuckles.

"No, not completely." My lips stretch with a smirk. "You can wake me up like this whenever you'd like."

"Good to know."

* * *

><p>As dawn breaks, as nighttime's dark blues and purples are softened and chased away by the pinks and golds of a new day, Bella wakes me for a second time. She's curled against me, her back to my chest, my arm once again encircling her waist. Without changing position, we make love slowly, and though I cannot meet her eyes, the intimacy of the moment is devastating. The stillness that surrounds us magnifies every sensation – each gasped breath, each push and pull, each kiss I press to the curve of her shoulder.<p>

* * *

><p>The third time I wake, Bella is still sleeping.<p>

We have unraveled during the night, and her face is turned toward me, her hands tucked under her chin. Her eyelashes flutter against her cheek as she dreams, her lips slightly parted. Smiling, I tuck her chaotic mess of unwinding curls behind her ear – my fingers lingering, addicted to the feel of her skin beneath them.

"You're so beautiful." The whispered words fall from my lips without my deciding to speak them.

"Thanks." Bella's rough reply surprises me, and my hand jerks from her face as her lips curl.

Her dark eyes open, laughter dancing in them. "Sorry, baby."

I chuckle, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead. "Silly girl. I love you."

"Mmm, I love you, too." She yawns, her back arching. "What time is it?"

"Uhh." I push up on my elbow to look past her to the clock. "Just after ten."

"Ah, shit." Rolling on to her back, Bella fumbles for my phone. She frowns as she fiddles with it for a while, then throws it back on the nightstand. "We're supposed to meet Mom for brunch – I told her to make it lunch."

"We are?" This is the first I've heard of it – I think.

"Oh, yeah." Bella smiles sleepily, her eyes half-closed. "I forgot to tell you last night – I was a bit distracted. Sorry."

"I don't mind." I push the hair out of my eyes, and bundle my pillow under my chin. "What time is lunch?"

"Mmm, I told her midday – which means about one o'clock."

"Uhh …"

Bella laughs. "She's shockingly unpunctual. I learned as a kid, that if I wanted to get somewhere on time, I had to tell her I needed to be there an hour before I truly did."

"Oh, gotchya."

"It'll just be her and Phil," she says, her eyes opening to focus on me. "So she'll be less annoying than she was last night."

"She wasn't annoying," I hedge.

"Yeah, she was. It's what happens when she and Auntie Maggie get together. They're both actually quite, uh, normal, when they're by themselves. But you get them together and … I don't know, they kind of get a bit loopy. Especially when you give them some booze."

"Right."

"Anyway, I need to get home and change."

"Oh." Disappointment coils in my belly.

Bella giggles, wriggling closer to me and pressing a kiss to my cheek. "I haven't got any clean clothes, baby. And while I do kinda want the whole world to know what I've – we've – been doing all night – going to lunch with my Mom in the dress I was wearing last night … I think it could be just a little awkward."

Reassured by her sweet words, I pretend to pout. "Wear some of my clothes."

"I would." She grins. "If I had jeans with me, I totally would. But somehow, I don't think I'll fit into yours."

She bounces out of bed, then looks down at me, her hands resting on the swell of her hips. "You coming?"

"Uh – to your place?"

"_Uh_, yes. After we shower …" She's laughing delightedly as I dive out of bed, and half-carry her in my hurry to reach the bathroom – the thought of a naked, wet Bella is, unsurprisingly, somewhat motivating.

* * *

><p>My hand rests on Bella's knee as she drives. I watch her, as she hums along to the radio, her still-damp hair thrown into a messy ponytail, her face free of makeup. Fuck, she's wonderful.<p>

She cheerfully conceded to wearing a pair of my sweats and a thick flannel shirt back to her place, on the condition that she gets to keep them – apparently they'll be good pajamas. I don't know why I find the sight of her little body swamped by my clothes so appealing, but I almost don't mind that the over-sized garments completely conceal her curves from me.

_Almost._

As soon as we're inside the door of her apartment I'm tugging them off her, walking her backwards towards her bedroom as she giggles and swats at me playfully. She doesn't seem too upset though, once her back is flat on her unmade bed and my face is between her rounded thighs and her hands are in my hair and the desperate need to consume her has pushed all conscious thought from my mind.

Her babbling cries, her heady scent and the taste of her are overwhelming. My hips rock frantically against the mattress, and as she arches against me, her hands fisted tightly in my hair, her moan deep and hoarse – it's too much and I groan into her flesh as my own climax catches me off guard.

When the waves of pleasure dump me back onto the shore, I roll away from her, my arm moving to cover my face, embarrassed and ashamed. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.

"Are you hiding from me?" Bella's voice is faint and scratchy, laced with concerned.

"Uh-huh."

I can feel the movement of the mattress as she wriggles around.

When she speaks again, I startle – her voice is right above me.

"Why?"

"I, uh, um –" I shake my head, my forearm still covering my eyes.

Bella tries to pull at it, her bony fingers burrowing into the muscle, but I resist, the heat still swirling under my cheeks.

"Edward, look at me." It's the worry in her voice that has me obeying immediately.

I let her pull my arm away and I open my eyes, a tiny, unbidden smile turning my lips as I meet her upside-down regard. Her dark eyes are serious with concern.

"What happened, baby?"

I wave my arm around vaguely. "Need to wash your sheets. Sorry." My cheeks burn hotter.

Bella's eyes follow my arm, and I see them widen as understanding dawns. Her nose doesn't scrunch up with the disgust I anticipate – rather, her tongue darts out to wet her lips and she swallows hard.

"That's so fucking hot," she murmurs, her cheeks staining to match my own.

My apology starts to slip from my mouth automatically. "I'm so sorr – wait, _what_?"

She nods, her eyes afire. "You lost control, yeah?"

"Yeah." My voice is small.

"Don't be embarrassed," she tells me. "It's all kinds of sexy."

She must see the confusion etched across my face. "You don't see how I'm like, ridiculously turned on by that? Fuck, Edward. I mean – you got that aroused pleasuring _me_, making _me_ feel good. That's … ungh … that's really, really hot."

"Uh …" Coherency seems to have deserted me.

Her lips find mine, upside down, hard and demanding. When she pulls away again, a slow, deep breath seeps from between her lips.

"I love you." She tells me, her fingers finding my hair and combing through it. "Always."

Like a crucial puzzle piece, understanding drops into place.

I thought I understood the whole picture, but one final detail clarifies it and changes the whole perspective. Astonishment curls through my belly, sending that fluttery thing that dwells there into a frenzy.

She loves me, always.

We'll fight and we'll disappoint each other, we'll fuck up and there'll be times when we struggle to see eye-to-eye. But she loves me, always. When I say stupid shit, or when I'm lost to the fierce clutches of depression, or when I come all over her sheets like a teenaged wet dream – she loves me.

_Always._

My arm reaches up for her, my fingers finding her cheeks and tracing it in wonder.

"Always," I repeat, the overwhelming awe making my voice faint.

She nods, her eyes sparking gold. "Always."

Minutes or days pass, as we remain unmoving, my hand on her cheek, her hands in my hair, our eyes locked.

Bella eventually speaks. "Come on. We need to get moving."

We strip the bed, giddy grins stretching lips and searching hands finding naked skin at every opportunity.

We shower, again – just for good measure – and I make my way back up her hallway, collecting my clothes and re-dressing as I go – a strange, and much more interesting, twist on a trail of breadcrumbs.

"Baby?"

I look up, pausing with one foot half way into its battered, faded red chuck.

Bella drops onto the couch beside me, fiddling with her keys.

"What's up, love?"

"Nothing, nothing. I was just … well, I was wondering if you would come to San Francisco with me over Easter."

"Of course."

Her eyes widen at my easy agreement. "Really? Just like that? You don't even want to know why?"

"I'd love to know why," I tell her. "But the answer will be yes, regardless."

"Maybe it'll be something really, really awful." She wrestles with her smile and loses, the corners of her lips pulling her mouth into a delighted grin.

I shrug. "I don't care. I'll be with you."

"I want to introduce you and my Dad," she says, watching me closely. "If that's alright."

I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, and she swings her legs over my lap.

"Sweetheart … Is it – I mean, I'm not fazed by the idea of meeting your Dad. Is that bad? I suppose it's not very 'new boyfriendish' of me, but I'm kinda, well, I'm looking forward to it – 'cause I know how much he means to you."

Bella relaxes into me, scooting onto my lap, her head tucked under my chin.

"Thank you," she murmurs.

"Always."

* * *

><p>An hour or so later Bella pulls up in front of an unfamiliar strip of cafés and restaurants. The day is overcast, clouds gathering ominously, the sky prematurely darkened. It's fucking cold, too, though Spring should be calming the biting wind that buffets us as we dart from car to café.<p>

"You'll get sick," I frown, tugging the ends of her still damp hair. "You should have dried this."

She shrugs. "I'll be fine – Ugh, they're so fucking embarrassing."

Following her gaze, I look away just as quickly, my face heating. I look at Bella, who rolls her eyes and starts digging in her bag, turning her back on her mother. She pulls out her cell phone, as I watch, bemused.

"Mom," she snaps into it. "We're here. Stop acting like a pair of horny fifteen year olds or we're leaving."

She throws her phone back in her bag and takes a deep breath, shaking her head. "Sorry about that."

I shrug. "It's okay. I've caught my parents doing worse."

Bella scrunches up her nose at me, adorable girl that she is. "I don't want to know." She giggles, then sighs. "I know, I know. I should be stoked they're so happy and in love and all that shit, but it just creeps me out."

I offer her my fist and she bumps it, laughing.

"Come on, then. Let's do this." I take her hand, tugging her toward the table where her mother is now – _thank fuck_ – no longer straddling her stepfather.

* * *

><p>"Your step-dad's pretty funny, huh?" I ask, opening the car door for Bella to slide in. I glance skyward; rain is imminent.<p>

"Yeah, he's pretty cool." She smiles at me as I close her door, then continues once I climb into the driver's seat. "Even when he and Mom first hooked up – they just fit, you know? I mean, I don't remember Mom and Dad together at all. But Phil makes Mom happy, so that makes me happy."

I nod. "And, that's why she's okay with you moving to Chicago permanently?" I slide the seat back – my girl has really short legs.

"Yeah. When I told her I was coming back, and that I'd be staying here if you, uh, like, still wanted to be with me … And, well, she said she understood, you know? That if I loved you, and you loved me, and being with you made me happy – that she could never begrudge me that. Even if she would miss me." Her smile is a little goofy and her cheeks flush as she meets my eyes.

"I do want to be with you. And I do love you." I tell her, grinning at her. "And being with you makes me incredibly happy, so I really hope I can make you happy, too, sweetheart."

"You have – you _do_," she says. "I love you, too."

I'll never tire of hearing those words. I lean across the car, catching her hand and pulling her until she shifts forward and my lips find hers. It's awkward and giggly, neither of us can wipe the smiles from our faces long enough to make our lips soften into a deeper kiss.

Chuckling, I pull away. "So, what do you want to do now?" I wiggle my eyebrows and Bella giggles.

"Hmm …" She taps her finger to her chin while I twirl the ends of her ponytail around my fingers, only vaguely aware of the erratic drumming of heavy raindrops against the windshield. "I can think of a million things."

"Good." I grin, tugging her hair lightly. A flash of lightening breaks the darkened sky. "'Cause we've got a whole lot of time ahead of us."

* * *

><p><strong>I'd really love to hear your thoughts. They make my day!<strong>

**Love, Shell x**

* * *

><p>Now, for a public service announcement ...<p>

Help us spread awareness of Peace Day, an annual day of global ceasefire and non-violence.

Recognizing that fanfiction readers and authors are a huge, connected community, we are encouraging you to use your collective power to make a difference in the world.

The non-profit organization Peace One Day led the process that resulted in the UN declaring September 21st as Peace Day. Every year, Peace One Day partners with a range of organizations from around the world to raise awareness of the day and to encourage Peace Day activities by all sectors of society, including life-saving activities in the name of peace — things like distribution of humanitarian aid, vaccinations, and trainings that help people improve their lives. Through efforts like this, in 2008, Peace Day marked a 70% reduction in violent incidents in Afghanistan. Ceasefire agreements by all parties to conflict in the country, including the Taliban, resulted in millions of children being vaccinated because health and aid workers were able to travel without fear for their lives.

This year, Peace One Day is working to see the largest global reduction of violence, and the largest gathering of individuals in the name of peace, on one day – Peace Day 2012. The Global Truce 2012 campaign will set an important marker for future Peace Days and reinforce the value of this unique annual day as a foundation for long-term sustainable peace.

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>Copy and paste the above text into your next Author's Note.<p>

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	25. Epilogue: Dance Me to the End of Love

**Epilogue: Dance Me to the End of Love.**

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><p><strong>AN: *sniffle* *sob***

**The DTCPS are the most wonderful group of talented, inspiring ladies, ever.**

**MissWinkles is my twinlove.**

**Tam is my favourite colour, and the sparkles in my panties.**

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><p><em><strong>Dance Me to the End of Love<strong>_**, Leonard Cohen.**

_**Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin  
><strong>__**Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in  
><strong>__**Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove  
><strong>__**Dance me to the end of love  
><strong>__**Oh let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone  
><strong>__**Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon  
><strong>__**Show me slowly what I only know the limits of  
><strong>__**Dance me to the end of love**_

_**Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on  
><strong>__**Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long  
><strong>__**We're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above  
><strong>__**Dance me to the end of love**_

_**Dance me to the children who are asking to be born  
><strong>__**Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn  
><strong>__**Raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn  
><strong>__**Dance me to the end of love**_

* * *

><p><strong>October 2012 (A year and a half later).<strong>

Even before I open the front door, the sound of feminine laughter rings in my ears, stretching a smile across my face.

They're talking so damn fast and laughing so hard that I can't make out a word that's being said. I can hear Alice yammering away, and Rosalie's quiet chuckle. My girl's giggle, though – a sound I can distinguish in any crowd – is the one that speeds my heart and sets my belly swirling. After all this time – it's still my favorite sound in all the world.

"Bella! You nearly sat on my eggby!" Alice's screech cuts through the air clearly as I open the door.

_Egg-bee? _

"Oh, _fuck_. Sorry."

"Bella, don't swear in front of the eggbies!" Rose says.

Bella laughs. "Aw, man. I'm going to be such a terrible mom."

My heart leaps into my throat, and I close the front door, leaning against it heavily. My knees are weak, my legs not strong enough to support the rapidly inflating organ crashing around in my chest.

Bella's still giggling. "I mean, swearing like a sailor is an expression for a reason. And Edward's no better. We'll be lucky if our kid's first word isn't 'fuck.' I'm totally going to be the mom that gets a call from preschool 'cause my kid taught all the other kids filthy words."

The girls continue to laugh and chatter, while I'm feeling the earth tilt. Hearing Bella laugh, speak of having our children … there's no pain in her voice, no hesitation, no hint that she's biting her lip and getting lost in her memories.

I slide to the floor, my head in my hands. Images and dreams spiral through my mind – Bella with a belly to match Alice's, Bella holding our child in her arms, Bella chasing a fat-legged toddler around the park.

I feel a warm body settle next to mine on the hardwood floor. I can smell the perfume I gave her for Christmas, honeysuckle and jasmine mingling with her own scent. Her small hand finds mine, linking our fingers, and her head settles on my shoulder.

She doesn't speak until I turn my head a little to kiss her hair. "Are you all right, fiancé of mine?"

"Never better."

My fingers find the diamond I put on her left hand six months ago, spinning it around absently. "Are you girls having fun? Only Alice and Rose are still here?"

She chuckles. "Yeah, most of the other girls left after dessert – about an hour ago, I guess. And, yeah, it's been so much fun – even though I broke four eggbies."

"What the hell is an egg-bee?"

"Egg baby." She snickers. "It's a game. We were supposed to like, carry them around and look after them. You know, because a baby is so similar to an unfertilized chicken ovum."

"I see." I don't really. Chalk baby shower games up to another thing I just don't understand. "So, how did you break them?"

"I dropped two of them when I got them out of the fridge. I'm so glad we have wood floors." She giggles. "And then, Alice said I had to have twin eggbies because of all the twins in our families. And I, uh, put them in the pouch of my hoodie and forgot about them. And I was making coffee and I leaned over the bench to grab the sugar and they cracked. In my sweater."

"Gross." I pull back to look at her, wrinkling my nose.

Her eyes are shining as she nods her head vigorously. "I'm just glad it didn't soak through the fabric into my jeans."

"Yuck."

"Right? Stupid game. Like I could ever put a baby in my hoodie pouch and forget about it. It wouldn't fit."

"Mmm. Babies tend to make a lot of noise, too. I don't think forgetting about one would be especially easy." I reach for her, tugging her into my lap, pressing kisses to her forehead and her lips. "Hi there."

"Hi, baby." Her smile is bright and just for me. "Did you have a good time with the boys?"

"Yeah, it was fine." I shrug. "I'm glad to be home though. I missed you."

Bella kisses me sweetly. "I missed you, too. It's been a long day. I'm beat."

I hesitate, wondering if I should ask the question in my mind. I decide to go for it – I know she can't be upset with me for being concerned. "Love? Are you, I mean, have you been okay with all this, uh, baby stuff?"

She smiles, her fingers tracing my cheek. "Yeah. I'm okay. Really. I'm so excited for Jazz and Alice, you know?"

"I do know." I laugh. "They won't need to buy clothes for that child until it starts school with all the little outfits you've been coming home with. But … I know it must be hard for you, to some degree."

Bella's eyes are thoughtful as her hands snake up into my hair, her nails scratching lightly at my scalp. "No. I mean, yes, there's always that little part of me that will grieve for that child. But I'm hopeful, too. Celebrating with Ally today – I guess, I don't know … I'm kinda looking forward to it being our turn. Not like, right away, but eventually."

I pull her against my chest, hugging her fiercely. "I love you."

"Love you, too."

She lifts her head and kisses me hard and deep. Her tongue finds mine and I groan, my hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer.

"Ewwwww!" Alice's shriek causes us to break apart, rolling our eyes. "You guys! Stop it."

"Hi, Tigger." I smirk up at Alice. "Hello, Baby." I say to her belly. She's so short that her enormous baby bump is pretty much at my eyelevel.

"Don't call me that." She scowls, but her dark eyes are full of laughter.

"How are you feeling?" I ask. She's had a shitty pregnancy – gestational diabetes, as well as morning sickness through all thirty-eight weeks so far.

"I didn't throw up this morning!" She grins, offering me her fist. I bump it, laughing.

"Hey, Edward." Rosalie appears, her arms laden with … well, I think it's a plastic baby bath that's loaded with all sorts of crap.

"Hi, Rose. You going to give Alice a bath?" I snort at my own joke.

"Fuck you, Edward." Alice flips me off, causing Bella and Rose to giggle. "I'm too fat to fit in that at the moment."

"You're not fat." I assure her – Jasper mentioned she's been freaking out about her weight. "It's that baby. He's obviously going to take after his daddy and have a big fat head."

"He better fucking not. And speaking of, how drunk is my husband?" Alice sighs.

"He didn't drink anything, Ally." Jasper's utterly convinced that the second he has something to drink, Alice will go into labour and he won't be able to drive her to the hospital. I shrug. "Em and Garrett on the other hand."

"Katie's going to be so thrilled." Rose chuckles. "I'm just glad I don't have to deal with Emmett tomorrow."

"Are you –" Bella's elbow in my rib stops me mid-sentence.

Rose rolls her eyes, but her soft voice is patient. "It's okay, Bella. Yes, Edward, we've been hanging out again. But we're not dating. Just friends."

I nod. _Sure. Just friends. _

"Bullshit." Alice fake-coughs into her hand.

Pink spreads across Rose's cheeks.

Bella pipes up. "You two need to get your shit together."

Rose spent the second half of last year, and the first half of this one, cruising the Pacific Ocean with her parents. Knowing she was going to be away for over twelve months, she and Emmett broke up just before she left. When she came back to Chicago in June, he was half-heartedly dating some chick – Makenna, I think her name was. He broke up with her about two months ago, and, from what he was mumbling into his beer tonight, he wants Rose back.

"Yeah, I know." Rose sighs, a shy half-smile on her lips. "We'll get there. Anyway. Come on, Ally. Let's get you two home."

We've barely closed the door on the girls before Bella's hands are working my shirt buttons, mine are on her ass, and our mouths are fused together. She pushes my shirt over my shoulders and I reluctantly release her so she can slide it to the floor. Her hands move to my jeans but I catch them and press her back against the door, kissing her hard.

I pull away and drop to my knees, dragging her jeans and panties down her legs. Her hands rest on my shoulders as she steps out of them, whimpers and pants escaping her lips. I lift one of her legs over my shoulder, then pause until she meets my gaze. Her eyes are wild, and her fingers flex around my shoulders, squeezing almost painfully.

"I love you," I say.

"I love you, too." Her breathing is shallow. "Baby, please –"

My mouth finds her slick skin, and she exhales a moan.

After all this time together, I know her body as well as I know my own – I know to speed the movement of my fingers when her fists start tugging at my hair, I know that her kicking at my back means _more_ and _harder_, and I know that when that little "uh, uh, uh" starts falling from her lips that she can't bear it if I change what I'm doing – that under no circumstances should I alter rhythm, speed, or pressure.

My tongue, lips, and fingers work together until her body is shaking and shuddering with her climax. She sags against the wall, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheek, her face flushed and damp.

I carefully set her foot back on the floor, my hands resting on her hips. I'm worried she's going to fall, she's all floppy and boneless. My knees remind me that our floor is hardwood as I get to my feet. I ignore them – their pain is worth my girl's pleasure.

Bella's eyes open as I pull her into my arms.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?" I might be smirking a little – I'll never tire of making her orgasm-incoherent.

"Mmm." She sighs. "Yeah."

Chuckling, I duck down, scooping her up into my arms. She giggles sleepily as I carry her toward the bedroom.

I set her on the comforter, her dark hair swirling across the yellow and white stripes. I pull her shirt over her head carefully, and she arches her back, trying unsuccessfully to unclasp her bra. Chuckling, I reach beneath her and undo it, pulling the pink lace away and dropping it to the floor.

She watches me with sleepy-smiley eyes as I step out of my jeans and boxers.

"Come here, baby." She reaches a hand toward me.

I position myself over her, kissing her nose, her eyelids, her forehead.

I whisper, "I love you," against her lips.

"Always and forever." Her words are carried by the sigh that seeps from her lips.

Our love-making is slow, tender. Bella's hands cup my face, and she holds my gaze as I move inside her. We don't speak, the stillness of the room creating an intimacy that brings my heart right into my throat. Each breath that passes between us is saturated with love and adoration and promise. There is nothing here but the two of us: nothing but the slow movement, skin-to-skin, heart-to-heart, soul-to-soul.

Bliss builds and crests, washing over me, raising goose bumps on my flesh, my breath catching in my lungs. Bella's eyes anchor me, holding me fast as sensation surges and overwhelms.

She kisses me softly as pleasure subsides, guiding me home with the whisper of her lips against my own.

We drift for a while, reluctant to leave this moment.

When reality intrudes, I clean up quickly, reluctant to leave Bella's arms. I retrieve a glass of water for her, flicking off all the lights in the house on my way back to the bedroom.

Climbing back into bed, I flick off the bedside lamp and curl myself around Bella. I press a kiss to her shoulder and wrap an arm across her waist. She sighs, relaxing into me.

I'm on the edge of sleep when she speaks, her voice quiet in the darkness. "Baby?"

"Mmm."

"Let's get married."

My heart beats double-time and my stomach turns a somersault. "Right now?"

"Not tonight." Her giggle is heavy with sleep. "But soon. Let's just do it. Small. No fuss."

"Really? Are you sure?" I wriggle around a little, rolling her onto her back and leaning over her on one elbow. Through the darkness, I can just make out the glint of her dark eyes and the curve of her smile.

"I'm positive." Her hand traces up my arm, to my shoulder, my neck, settling against my face.

"I was just thinking – I love you, you know? Always. Forever. And you love me the same. I don't want to wait until next June to be your wife."

My breath is stolen clean away by her soft-spoken words. _My wife_.

"Let's do it." I lean forward and press my lips to hers briefly. The corners of my eyes sting a little as I speak. "The first weekend that your parents can get out here, we'll get married."

"Yeah?" Bella sniffles a little.

My fingers comb through her hair. She can't see my smile, but maybe she can hear it in my voice. "Yeah. I love you, Bella. Always."

She rolls back onto her side, pulling my arm until I'm wrapped around her again. Her whisper fills the darkness, curling around us. "Always."

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you all so, so much for reading, reviewing, favouriting, following, tweeting, and messaging me over the course of this story.<strong>

**It means the world to hear from you.**

**Love, Shell x**

* * *

><p><strong>Also, my lovely friend BelieveItOrNot has a new story posting. It's called <em>On a Limb<em>, and it is a four-part novella. I promise you will love it with your whole heart. ffn is an absolute pain with linkage, but it's in my favourites. s/8507610/1/On-a-Limb**

**Please read it, and tell her how amazing she is. **


	26. Bella: Fall At Your Feet

**Bella: Fall at Your Feet.**

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><p><strong>AN: I started writing this at the same time as I was writing Chapter 13, so I could understand Bella, myself. It took a long time to make her talk to me, though.**

**The DTCPS are BelieveItOrNot, dragonfly366, dreaminginnorweigen, IReen H and moirae. Their amazing words are in my favourites - please, go read them :)**

**MissWinkles is the peanut to my M&M. She also has a new story that you want to read. It's called _Follow the Sun_, and it's in my favourites, too. Aussie surferward - you know you want him. s/8522710/1/Follow-The-Sun**

**And Tamara. Beta, pre-reader, cheerleader, ledge-talker-offer, adverb-smasher, Americanizer, writing partner, creator of words most wondrous, and above all, _friend_. Love you, bb. **

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><p><em><strong>Fall at Your Feet<strong>_**, Neil Finn***

… _**You're hiding from me now  
><strong>__**There's something in the way that you're talking  
><strong>__**Words don't sound right  
><strong>__**But I hear them all moving inside you, go  
><strong>__**I'll be waiting when you call**_

_**Hey and whenever I fall at your feet  
><strong>__**Won't you let your tears rain down on me  
><strong>__**Whenever I touch your slow turning pain  
><strong>_

_**The finger of blame has turned upon itself  
><strong>__**And I'm more than willing to offer myself  
><strong>__**Do you want my presence or need my help  
><strong>__**Who knows where that might lead**_

_**I fall **_

*Boy and Bear do a phenomenal cover.

* * *

><p><strong>May 2010.<strong>

It's dark, and my chest is still constricted with panic. Beside me, Edward is sleeping restlessly, his arms and legs constantly reaching for me, entangling me and trying to pull me close. I push him off gently, not out of affection, but because I don't want him to wake. I can't face him.

My throat burns with bile – anger and fear churning in my gut. I'm still so furious with him for hiding his depression. He _knew_. He fucking knew what Jacob and Leah's lies and omissions did to me, and still, he chose never to confide in me. Why?

I don't know if I believe his excuses. His earnest promises that he _didn't mean to _hide it … that he tries not to think about it. How can I trust him?

I buried Jacob. I can't bury Edward, too. I can't. I won't.

Edward mutters a little in his sleep – words of distress and anxiety that I can't quite understand.

"I love you, Bella," he slurs, his arms reaching for me again.

His unconscious declaration terrifies me more than his pleading did earlier this evening. How could I let this happen? I told him, I told him I didn't – I couldn't – want anything more. _Fuck. _Why is this happening again? Why do I fall in love with men who don't love themselves?

Love? _Fuck._

Do I love Edward? I suppose so – I care for him, I love him as a friend. That's all. Just a friend. My best friend … who neglected to tell me about his condition.

Pushing his searching arms away again, I climb out of his bed carefully, making sure he doesn't stir. His long arms reach for me, before he sighs wearily and curls back in on himself, tucking those gentle hands under his cheek.

I let myself take one long look at him; the moonlight streaming in through the open window provides the only illumination. My gaze sweeps from his light brown hair, almost colorless in the dark room, down his strong jaw. His skin is bathed in silvery blue, and my eyes trace along his cheekbones, watching as his long eyelashes flutter. He's beautiful.

My gaze drops to his mouth, and my heart lurches, each beat constricted and painful. His pretty lips are twisted in distress, his mouth tight with … what? Worry? Pain? Fear? He's frowning, and I hate it. I hate seeing that expression on his handsome face, and knowing it's there because of me.

"Sorry. Sorry," he mumbles.

I turn my back on him. As I do, my eyes land on that bottles of pills, forgotten on his desk, and panic and rage flood my veins again. I flee from his room, from him, from his deception.

I grab only what I'll need, frantically stuffing my clothes, and the schoolbooks I'll need for this week, into the suitcase that's still under my bed. I brush away the tears that are slipping down my face, frustrated and annoyed. I don't understand them.

* * *

><p>I realize <em>after<em> I start pounding on her door that it's three o'clock in the morning. Katie opens the door to her flat, concern leaping into her sleepy eyes when she sees my tear-soaked face and shaking hands. Garrett is right behind her, his expression murderous. He reaches for his keys, his mouth tight with fury.

"I'll bloody kill him," he spits. "What did he do? I fucking knew this would happen."

"Did you?" I snap. "Did you know about his depression?"

Garrett drops his keys back onto the sideboard in surprise. "His – what? I don't understand … Bella, what's going on?"

They shuffle me inside. Garrett leads me to the couch, his hand on my shoulder, while Katie mumbles something about making some herbal tea.

I throw myself down on the couch, and Garrett takes a seat on the coffee table in front of me, his expression filled with concern and confusion.

"How 'bout you tell me what happened?" His voice is gentle, which pisses me off for some reason.

"I found his pills."

"Pills? What? Like his anti-depressants?"

"You knew he was on them." He probably doesn't deserve the accusation and hostility in my voice, but I can't control it.

"Well, yeah. I had to drive him to and from school for a while when he first went on them. But that was like – I'm not sure, the end of freshman year, maybe? Bells, I don't understand – why are you upset about him being on meds?"

"He hid it from me. Well, he says he didn't mean to, that he just doesn't think about it. But, after everything I told him about Jake – h-how could he keep it from me?"

"Shit." His expression morphs to one of pity and I hate him for it. "Honey, I'm so sorry. That must have upset you, being reminded of Jake like that. But, you know, you don't need to worry about Edward, okay? He's never been suicidal, even when he was at his lowest."

"He told me he loves me," I blurt out.

Garrett looks utterly bewildered. "Cuz, you're going to have to help me out, hey? I'm heaps confused. I thought you were upset because the meds reminded you of Jake."

I shake my head. "No. Yes. _No_. I'm upset because Edward hid them from me, just like Jake did. And then he said he loves me. How can I trust him, though? Jacob said he loved me and now he's gone." A sob escapes my throat and I take a deep breath, furiously wiping at my eyes.

Garrett sighs. "Oh, Bella. I think you're over-reacting."

"What?" I'm on my feet, fury pulsing through me as I look down at my cousin.

He grabs my clenched fists, tugging gently. "Sit down, please."

I comply – I don't have the energy to fight him on it.

"Listen, Bells, it's too late for this. You're upset, and you've got to be exhausted. Get some sleep and we'll talk about this in the morning, okay?"

I let him lead me to their spare room, staring into space while Katie quickly searches out some blankets. She passes me a cup filled with some kind of sweet-smelling tea, and her smile is sympathetic. I climb into the bed and look into the weird, greenish liquid dubiously – I'd rather have some alcohol and a sleeping pill – but I gulp down the hot liquid as soon as it's cooled enough to prevent me from scalding my throat.

I don't know what the hell kind of herbs Katie keeps in her kitchen, but the next thing I know the sun in shining and I'm stumbling into the living room, still clad in yesterday's clothes.

Katie is clearly at work, but Garrett is at the table, obviously waiting for me. I wonder bitterly if he's already phoned Mom and Auntie Maggie this morning.

"How are you feeling, Bells?"

"Like shit."

"Do you want to tell me what happened last night?"

I suck in a deep breath, shaking my head. "I don't know where to start."

"Start from the beginning. You and Edward … what? Is it serious? Like, you said he loves you. Do you love him?"

"No … I don't know. It doesn't matter." My throat tightens again as my memories of the last twenty-four hours come rushing back.

For a moment he looks as though he's going to dispute that point, but he shakes his head slightly. "Okay, so you guys had this quasi-relationship going. And you're obviously tight, regardless of whether it's love or not, hey?"

I nod, sniffling. "He's my best friend, Gar. He's the first person I've let in since Jake died."

"Okay. And, I mean, you guys seem to be pretty content with this … whatever it is. I mean, as much as I hated the idea, even I could see it in you –you're a lot happier with him around."

"I am." I sniffle again. "Was. But he lied. Maybe not deliberately, but by omission."

"Yeah, okay. But do you understand where he's coming from? He really doesn't dwell on it, you now? He takes the pills, and gets on with life. He's resilient. When things get too crazy, which doesn't happen much anymore, he sees a therapist. Even then, even at his lowest, his depression was more … I don't know, apathetic, maybe? He, well, he sleeps heaps, and he kind of zones out a lot. Even when he was on the wrong meds, though, I was never worried he'd try to hurt himself."

"Wrong meds?"

"Yeah, the ones he went on first, they turned him into a zombie. They tried a few different types before they found the ones that suited him."

"Oh. But, he's still depressed, isn't he?"

Garrett squints at me, shaking his head a little. "Nah, not really – that's the point of the meds, hey?"

I say nothing, staring at my hands where they lie on the table.

"I'm confused," I finally manage to say.

"Cuz, not everyone who's depressed is suicidal."

"They're not?"

"No, honey." He's trying for patience, but I hear the weariness in his voice. "No two people experience those kind of conditions the same way – mental illness, I mean. Edward has struggled with anxiety and depression, yeah, but doesn't mean he's ever thought about taking his own life."

"My fiancée's a psych major?"

I'd forgotten that – Katie studied psychology, but fell into her current job as a real estate photographer almost by accident.

The panic that's been gripping me overnight is starting to twist, ice slips and slides through my veins with each compression of my heart. My self-righteous rage dissipates a little, and I start to question myself.

_What have I done?_

* * *

><p>I stumble through my last week of college, I think I take a few exams, and I probably turn in a few subpar papers as well. I don't care – I just need it to be done.<p>

Edward calls me. Three times. Three times I stare at my phone blankly as his smiling face lights up my screen. I'm scared to answer, so I don't. I don't know what to expect from him – accusation or entreaty – and I'm not sure I can deal with either.

It sort of sneaks up on me – pangs and twinges becoming an unending ache – I miss him. Intensely.

My life is … _less_ without his quiet strength, his gentle affection, our playful easiness.

Four words keep floating back to me, and one morning as I shower, I try them out, my voice cloaked by the splash and fall of the water.

"I love you, Edward." As soon as I speak them, I'm certain of their truth.

And I know immediately what I need to do.

* * *

><p>I'm almost surprised how quickly Leah agrees to meet me when I call her. Seth was shocked when I rang him to ask for her number – he's the only person, other than Edward and my Dad, who knows about Jacob's betrayal. Hearing his cheerful voice filled me with nostalgia, but the wistfulness I was feeling was nowhere near as strong as the longing I felt for Edward.<p>

I miss him so fucking much. It's like, like I'm missing a lung – it's harder to breathe without him near.

* * *

><p><strong>June 2010.<strong>

Garrett drives me to the airport in silence. The tightness around his mouth as he pulls my suitcase from the trunk shows me his disappointment. I want to explain, but there's no time left – I have a more important question to ask him.

"Is he – how is he?"

He turns to face me, his usually warm eyes snapping with ice.

"I'm not … Are you fucking serious, Bella? He told you he was in love with you? You took off. How do you think he's doing?"

I wince, my heart squeezing painfully. He's hurting and it's my fault.

Garrett sighs, pushing his sandy hair off his face. "Look Cuz, you're family, and I love ya, okay? But, this isn't right – running away like this. Just – at least call him."

I'm shaking my head before he finishes. "I can't. I fucked up, Gar. I know that. Really, I do." The familiar sting starts behind my eyes. "I need to do some things. Deal with some shit that I've tried to bury for too long. And, I – I don't know how long it will take."

A sob tries to leap up my throat but I swallow it. I don't deserve to cry. I did this.

"Edward deserves the chance to move on. I don't want him to wait for me. I might never be worthy of his love. He's … he's too special, too loving, to waste himself on me."

"You're not coming back." Garrett's voice is flat.

I direct my whisper to my shoes. "I don't know."

* * *

><p>Leah suggests we meet in a café, presumably because she thinks I'll be more comfortable on neutral ground. I turn her down, though; I don't especially want half of New York City to witness the highly emotional conversation we're about to have. She seems relieved when I ask if I can come by her apartment instead.<p>

She ushers me into her tiny flat, apologizing for the clutter. To be honest, a family of rats could run through the kitchen and I probably wouldn't notice – my attention is so focused on getting the answers I need.

Leah, thankfully, seems to get it. She doesn't waste time asking me how I am, or how I like Chicago, and mercifully, she doesn't ask me about Edward.

"I figured we'd have to have this conversation one day," she tells me, handing me a glass of water.

My eyes snap to hers in surprise. "You did?"

She grimaces, twisting her delicately boned hands in her lap. Her dark eyes are soft when she speaks. "You're here, uh, 'cause of Jake, right?"

I say nothing.

Leah looks past me, her eyes unfocused. "I've rehearsed what I'd say to you, you know? Practiced it over and over. What I'd say to make you understand." She laughs – it's a bitter, defeated sound. "As if you _could_ understand. As if there's any way I can justify it."

I bristle at the insinuation. Am I really that lacking in empathy?

She sighs and shakes her head, her gaze still drifting past me. "I was in love with him, Bella."

"Yeah, I gathered that." It's impossible to keep the bitterness from my voice. "I figured that out when I discovered you'd been fucking him behind my back."

Finally, she meets my eyes. I see the pain and regret dwelling there, I see the tears start to splash onto her cheeks, but I'm unmoved.

Her next words are not what I am expecting.

"It's my fault. It's my fault he's dead." A sob escapes her and she clamps a hand over her mouth. Her body shakes as she tries to stifle her cries.

_It's my fault he's dead._

Her words, ripped from a place of agony, thrown at my feet, make no sense to me.

"You know that's not true." My voice is quiet, but anger is growing out of my confusion. "He's the one who made that choice, Leah."

She gasps for breath, her voice shaky as she speaks. "I told him not to tell you. That you wouldn't understand."

"I know." I spit the words at her. "Because I was too sheltered, too innocent. I couldn't possibly understand what he was going through. Yeah, I know, Leah. It was all in his journal."

Leah shakes her head, her cries choking the words she's trying to speak. I push my glass of water across the coffee table toward her, and rummage through my handbag until I find a packet of tissues. I throw them down beside the glass.

"That's why I'm here, Leah. I need you to make me understand why you thought I couldn't handle the truth."

"I'm so sorry," she says. "So sorry, so sorry, so sorry."

Frustrated, I get to my feet. I move to the window, looking out on the unfamiliar city. I talk to the open window and the grey sky beyond it. "Did you know Edward suffers from depression, too?"

She sniffles. "I guessed as much. I, uh, Emmett never talked about it, but I well, after Jacob ..."

I smile tightly, my gaze tracing across the tops of buildings. Of course. Leah could read Edward, because – unlike me – she knew what Jacob was hiding. The knife in my gut twists a little deeper.

"Well, he didn't tell _me_. We, well, our relationship was bullshit – started because Mike wouldn't take a fucking hint." Somewhere along the line, it got so easy to forget that.

"And Edward, I mean – he's just …" I shake my head. He's _everything_. "He's everything."

"But?" Leah's voice is hesitant.

"But … I found his pills. And I thought 'Not again. I can't bury him, too.' He told me he loved me and I ran away. Leaving him seemed less painful than losing him."

With my back to Leah, I let the tears fall. I feel them slide down the side of my face and pool under my chin.

"It was a lie, Bella. You not being able to handle Jake's illness. I lied to him."

I turn to face her slowly.

Her head is in her hands. She continues, her voice a little muffled. "I loved him. B-But I couldn't tell him that. I mean, he loved you."

She sniffles a little. "It sounds like bullshit, but with me, it really just was sex. He loved you. So much. But he'd get these … I dunno, he'd get into these strange moods, and that's, well, that's when we'd …" She trails off. "I just, I wanted to be there for him. I thought if I was the one who cared for him, if I was the one who helped him pull through, if I was the one who helped him get better …"

The pieces fall into place, but there's no shock, no surprise. "He'd fall in love with you."

She nods, wiping her nose.

"But he didn't get better."

"It's my fault," she says again.

"But you encouraged him to get professional help," I remind her. "He _did_ get help. He'd even started on meds."

"If you'd known he was depressed, if you'd known he was taking medication – you would have paid close attention to his moods, right?"

Fury pours into my veins. "Are you saying –"

She cuts me off, her voice frantic. "No! Wait, please, Bella."

I nod, my jaw clenched tight.

"If you'd known, or Billy had known – or even Seth. You'd have all watched him closely. You'd have checked up on him. Don't you get it? I convinced him to keep quiet. Fuck, Bella – I sentenced him to suffer in silence. I made him feel like he _couldn't_ turn to anyone."

Her voice drops, weariness and despair coating each word. "If I hadn't convinced him to keep it a secret, there's a good chance he wouldn't be dead."

I collapse back onto the couch, my head spinning and my stomach churning. My thoughts are darting in every direction. There's this strange throbbing under my breastbone; I push my hand against it, trying to ease it.

Clarity catches me off guard. I'm heartbroken … for Leah. I've lived the guilt she's carrying. In fact, it's only in this moment that I've been unburdened of it – it was no deficiency of mine that cost Jake his life. But Leah will carry this guilt always. And despite all the hurt I've felt over her betrayal, I would not wish this guilt, this corrosive "what if?" on anyone.

It's that knowledge – knowing the depths of the pain she carries – that keeps me from revealing the fact I was pregnant when Jacob took his own life. When I left Chicago, I had every intention of telling her. I thought I'd enjoy watching her face drop when she realized just how much _I_ had suffered. But what will come from it? It won't replace what I've lost, and it won't make me feel any better. All it will do is add to the weight of guilt bowing Leah's shoulders.

I can't – _won't_ – do that to her.

* * *

><p>I end up spending a week on Leah's couch.<p>

We'll never be good friends, and honestly – other than for something like Seth's wedding – I can't imagine we'll ever spend any time together again. All we have is the past – we won't share our futures.

And so, we spend most of the time reminiscing. We share with each other from Jacob's life – most of them ridiculous, some of them profound. We remember the things we loved about him – how he made us laugh, his greatest achievements, the things we miss most.

When I leave, it's not just Leah I leave behind.

* * *

><p>Dad is waiting when I land in San Francisco. I hurl myself straight into his arms, dropping anchor and finding my safe harbor.<p>

He holds me tight as everything catches up with me, as gale force sadness and loss storm my heart.

"I love him, Dad."

His arms tighten reflexively. "Edward?"

I wonder when he figured it out. Probably before I did.

I sniffle. "Yeah."

* * *

><p>Being back in San Francisco is strange. Ill-fitting.<p>

I miss Chicago.

I miss grey eyes and a kind heart.

* * *

><p>I make an appointment to see a therapist.<p>

I go sailing with Phil.

I read, a lot. Trying to understand depression and its manifestations.

I miss Edward constantly.

I should never have left. I was so, so wrong. Ignorant and reactionary.

I ruined the best thing that ever happened to me.

The sweetest, most tenderhearted man in the world somehow fell in love with me … and I ran away.

I trampled all over his soft heart, even as he offered it to me.

* * *

><p><strong>November 2010.<strong>

"Bells?"

I look up from the now soggy cereal I'm pretending to eat. Dad's dark eyes are concerned but determined.

"What's up?"

"Honey, why are you still here?"

"Uh. What?"

He takes a seat beside me. There are more creases forming around his eyes, and the grey in his hair is spreading, slowly but surely.

"Why are you still here? You've been here for nearly five months. What are you waiting for?"

"I don't know." I lie. "I mean, I want to be, I don't know, _better_."

"You've finished up with the counselor. You've put the past to bed. You'll never be perfect, you know? You'll never get to a point where you can say 'Oh, everything's as it should be now.' Life is rarely like that, and you know it as well as I do."

I nod. "I know."

"You know what I think?" He fixes me with his gaze, and I squirm a little. He sees me. "I think you're scared."

My eyes drop to my fingers, which are tracing the wood-grain of the table. "Of course I am. I screwed up, Dad. I ran away, I broke his heart. I haven't even contacted him. Who does that?"

"Do you still love him?"

"Of course I do."

"Then go. Go back to Chicago and do whatever you need to do. Whatever it takes."

The words spill out in a mess, my fears finally finding voice. "What if – what if I'm too late? And he doesn't want me anymore? Or he doesn't love me? Or he's realized I'm not worth it? Or what if he's found someone else?"

My head drops into my hands, my fingers curling through the strands of my hair and tugging until my scalp stings.

Dad's hand is warm and heavy as he rubs circles on my back. "I've never lied to you, honey. And I can't promise you that it'll be easy, and I can't promise you that this will work out. But I can promise you that you'll regret it if you don't at least try – if you don't take the chance."

"I know, I know."

"You, uh, you should probably stick around for Thanksgiving, though," he mutters. "Your mom might kill you, otherwise."

* * *

><p>Mom has … well, she actually has a tantrum when I tell her I'm planning on moving back to Chicago.<p>

"You can't go. Isabella, you're my only child – my baby girl – and you've only come home twice in the last two years! I want to spend some more time with you. And anyway, you'll just have to come back in a few weeks for Christmas. At least stay for Christmas."

* * *

><p><strong>Late December 2010.<strong>

Of course, then it's – "But New Year's Eve, Isabella! Phil and I are having such a big party and I was so counting on you being there. It's going to be so much fun. Please, baby girl."

Now, I am a stubborn person. My mulishness is legendary in my family, and my mother has never been able to walk over me. Her guilt trips are _never_ effective on me. But I acquiesce to her this time – not out of guilt, but because I'm a coward. I'm putting off the inevitable and I know it – it makes me sick.

"Mom." I raise my hand to cut off her entreaties. "Fine. Okay. I'll stay until the new year. But then I'm leaving on the first available flight."

"Isabella," she whines.

"Mom. Stop it. Just – would you just listen to me? Please. Just stop whining and hear me out."

My mother actually pouts at my sharp words.

"Mom. I love Edward. I fuc– I mean, I messed up. Badly. Maybe too badly for him to ever forgive me. But I have to try. I have to at least try."

"But Isabella. Chicago is so far away. And –"

"Seriously, Mom. I don't know why you're not listening. You have Phil – you love him. Don't you get it? I love Edward. I want to be with him – if he'll have me. I need to go home."

I'm sure my face reflects the shock written across my mother's.

_Home. _

Home is not the city, wrapped in its blanket of fog. Not anymore.

Home is grey eyes, soft with love and affection.

Mom sniffles a little, drawing my attention back to her.

She pulls me into her arms, and hugs me tight. "I'm sorry. I just … yes, of course you need to go. I've been so selfish, baby girl. Go. Go home to Edward."

* * *

><p><strong>You guys have blown me away with all your kind words.<strong>

**Thank you so much.**

**Shell x**

* * *

><p><strong>Also, if you are interested, I am working on a new story, called <em>Figmentum<em>. It might be a while before I start posting - I want to have most of it written, first - but you can put me on Author Alert if you'd like to be notified :)**

**Figmentum: _1. figment, fiction, invention, unreality; 2. thing formed, devised; 3. image. _She coaxes him into existence with every word she writes. What will Bella do when she finds herself falling in love with the main character in her latest novel? Bella & Edward. Romance & Angst.**


	27. Garrett: Just Like Heaven

**September 2016: Garrett**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: At some point, one of the little notes my beta-girl left in one of my docs said "Garrett/Katie spin-off?" and I grinned huge, because I'd already started this.**

**Tam, this one's for you. **

**For all the time you have spent correcting my Australianisms, pointing out my unnecessary wordiness, waging war against my infernal adverbs, _gently_, and talking me through "I don't know what to do" freak-outs. For all the WCs, all the word-sharing, all the kind tweets, the retweets, the DMs, the PMs and the emails. For being one of the most talented writers, ever, and yet being so incredibly humble and sweet. For being a beautiful friend.**

**This is my way of saying "Thank you."**

_**Thank you.**_

* * *

><p><strong>And a million thank yous, also, to Dragonfly366 who beta-ed this for me so I could keep it a surprise.<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Just Like Heaven<strong>_**, The Cure**

_**"Show me how you do that trick  
><strong>__**The one that makes me scream" she said  
><strong>__**"The one that makes me laugh" she said  
><strong>__**And threw her arms around my neck  
><strong>__**"Show me how you do it  
><strong>__**And I promise you I promise that  
><strong>__**I'll run away with you  
><strong>__**I'll run away with you"**_

_**Spinning on that dizzy edge  
><strong>__**I kissed her face and kissed her head  
><strong>__**And dreamed of all the different ways I had  
><strong>__**To make her glow  
><strong>__**"Why are you so far away?" she said  
><strong>__**"Why won't you ever know that I'm in love with you  
><strong>__**That I'm in love with you?"**_

* * *

><p><strong>October 2016.<strong>

I hear the slap of Katie's joggers on the path as I'm picking my squirmy daughter up out of her high chair.

"Mummy's home."

Lucy grins at me, her chubby cheeks smeared with pumpkin and vegemite. "Mama!"

"Yeah, Mama's home. Let's clean you up a bit, Luce. You're a grub."

Lucy wriggles and whines as I run the facewasher across her chin. "Mama!"

"Yeah. But Mama probably wants to have a shower. She went for a run. She'll be all sweaty and heaps yucky."

"Mama yucky."

Of course that's what she chose to parrot. Her timing is outstanding.

"Oh, that's nice, Gar. Real nice."

I laugh, turning to kiss my wife. Her skin is sun-browned and damp with sweat, and her blonde hair is coming loose from her ponytail. Fuck, she's gorgeous.

"You know I like you sweaty, babe." Hell, if it weren't for the twelve-month-old in my arms, I'd be doing everything I could to make her even sweatier.

Kate shakes her head at me, her nose wrinkling as she takes in our daughter. Lucy is trying to climb out of my grasp, her fat little hands flexing as she reaches for her Mum.

"Lucy-goosey, do you have vegemite in your hair?"

"Uh, yeah. She smashed one of her sandwiches against her head. Maybe you should take her into the shower with you?"

Katie grimaces, but accepts our grinning, vegemite-smeared little monkey into her arms. I don't know that she'll ever get used to the smell of the sticky brown spread. Lucy, though—like all Aussie kids—loves the shit out of its salty goodness.

"Mama yucky."

I bite my tongue, trying not to laugh as Katie rolls her eyes. "Yeah, well. Mummy's yucky, and Daddy's not getting any."

Bloody hell. I really need to stop shooting my mouth off in front of the grommet.

"What time do you need to pick up Bella and Edward?"

My eyes find the oven clock. "I should probably leave in about fifteen minutes."

"'kay." Katie kisses me sweetly, while Lucy cheerfully wipes vegemite all over her shoulder. "Drive safe … No, Lucy! That's yucky!"

"Mama yucky!"

Ah, shit. I'm so dead.

* * *

><p>I fucking hate airport parking.<p>

Stupid, shitty, money-sucking hellhole.

I watch a few aeroplanes coming into land as I wind my way through the maze that is Sydney International Terminal—the flying kangaroo red and proud as she swoops to the earth.

I stomp through the terminal, flopping down in the ugly plastic chairs to wait for my cousin and her husband to emerge through customs. I pick up the discarded copy of the _Herald_ beside me, flicking through it with no real interest.

When I finally see Bella appear, I can't help but grin, remembering the first time she appeared through these gates.

* * *

><p><em>"Garrett! Come here, and sit down!"<em>

_"But Muuuuum! I want to watch the aeroplanes land."_

_"You can watch them from over here. Sitting down. Quietly."_

_Mum just doesn't get it. It's so much more exciting, standing with my nose pressed against the glass, my fingers swirling grease across the windows as I watch all the differently decorated planes touch down. I'm as close to them as I can get, seeing as I'm not allowed on the runway._

_I like the white ones with the red tails the best. Mum says they're called "kwantus."_

_Weird name, but I like their kangaroo. The idea of kangaroos flying is so cool. I'd like to hop in the pouch of a flying kangaroo. I'd be just like Dot, but my kangaroo would fly—so much more awesome than being bounced around everywhere._

_Mum starts jumping and squealing like that annoying girl who was in my preschool class last year. Olivia, I think. Or Kylie. I can't remember. She was stupid and annoying, always squealing and screaming. I thought putting cicada shells on her dress might make her be quiet—that she'd like to have a look at them for a while or something. Instead, she just screamed even louder and I got in trouble for scaring her. Girls are so dumb._

_Mum is a girl. That must be why she's acting all crazy and jumping all over that other lady—who is also a girl._

_There's another girl, too. An actual girl, though—like the ones at preschool, not a big one like Mum. She's standing next to the other crazy lady._

_She looks cross. She has pretty brown hair tied in pigtails with blue ribbons, but her mouth is all frowny and her arms are over her chest like Mum's are when I haven't cleaned my room._

_I don't blame her for being grumpy and annoyed. My mum and that other lady are being super silly. They're talking really fast and crying and laughing. I don't really know why someone would cry and laugh at the same time—how can you be happy and sad together? It's very confusing._

_Maybe this girl knows._

_"I'm Garrett."_

_The girl tips her head, her big brown eyes going all squinty. "You're my cousin."_

_I shrug. "Are you Isabella?"_

_She nods and her shiny brown hair bounces around like two slinkies._

_"My mum and your mum are sisters," I tell her._

_"You talk funny," she says._

_She talks kind of like Mum, so I know what she means. "It's because you have an accent."_

_"I do not." She frowns at me, like she thinks I might be calling her a rude name._

_"You do, too." I nod my head. "Just like my Mum. You have an American accent."_

_"What's an ak-sent?"_

_I smile. I can teach her this. "People from different countries talk differently. My Mum is from America, so she talks a bit different than my Dad and me. We're Australian."_

_Isabella thinks about this for a while. "If I stay here for too long, will I start talking funny, too?"_

_I'm not sure about that. "I don't know. Mum lives here, and she still talks American. I think you'd have to stay here for a long time. Maybe like three years."_

_"I'm staying for one month."_

_"I think you'll still talk American, then."_

_She nods, looking relieved. "You can call me Bella. My dad does."_

_"Okay, Bella." I hold my hand out for her. "Do you want to go watch the aeroplanes land?"_

_"You mean airplanes?"_

_I shake my head. I think she must be younger than me because she doesn't know some words. "Aer-o-planes."_

_She holds my hand and we walk over to the window. I show her the kwantus planes, and tell her they're my favourite, and she tells me she didn't come in one with a red tail, but she really wishes she did._

_"Where's the snow?" she asks._

_I am confused. "Snow?"_

_"Yeah. Do they scoop it away so the air-o-planes can come in?"_

_I look at her as she stares out the window. "There's no snow here."_

_She pulls her hand away from mine. "No snow?" She says it like she doesn't understand, like she hears me but can't believe what I'm saying._

_I shake my head. "It's summertime. And even in winter, it doesn't snow here. Only like, far, far away."_

_"It's Christmas next week."_

_Duh. "I know."_

_"Christmas is in winter."_

_"No. Christmas is in summer."_

_Bella's brown eyes go really big, and her chin starts to wobble, and I think she's going to cry._

_I'm sad that she seems so disappointed—I love Christmas time._

_"It's so awesome," I assure her. "We'll go swimming, and eat prawns and Paddle Pops, and go to the beach and drink lots of cordial."_

_I must say something wrong, or maybe Bella doesn't like cordial or going swimming, because she doesn't smile. Instead, she starts to cry really loud for her Mommy._

* * *

><p>I'm pretty sure Bella's mind has wandered back to the same time as her gaze drifts out over the concourse. Her lips twitch and she smiles, the back of her hand moving to sweep her fringe out of her eyes.<p>

Edward ducks to speak into her ear, his hand hovering over the small of her back. He frowns as she nods, and I catch the worry that washes across his features before he forces them to smooth out, smiling down at his wife.

Bella is quiet as she greets me—her smile is genuine, but she looks heaps tired. It's a long flight, but there's something … _off_. I can't put my finger on it.

I hug her gently, and ignore Edward's outstretched hand, hugging him, too. We've long since buried the proverbial hatchet, and I love these two like a sister and brother. Yeah, that analogy has a huge flaw in it … They're family, and I love them.

When Bella excuses herself to the bathroom, I watch Edward's forehead crease with worry as his eyes follow her.

"Everything okay?" I go for casual. "She seems really tired."

"She is." His hand finds his hair, tugging it out f his eyes. "She was pretty sick on the flight over."

"What, like airsickness?"

He frowns at me. "I don't know. I mean, I don't think it could be—she doesn't get motion sickness, you know?"

"Maybe it's just a bug. Like a virus or something," I offer.

"Yeah." He nods, but the tension doesn't ease around his grey eyes. "Yeah, that's probably it."

* * *

><p>Having Bella and Edward around is awesome. I've missed them like crazy since Katie and I moved back down here two years ago, and it makes my heart all mushy and shit having them around.<p>

I'm teaching Edward how to barbeque properly, as we sip Matilda Bay's finest and watch our wives sprawl out in the afternoon sun.

They come out of the house clad in these fuck-awesome little bikinis—and I'm pretty sure Edward appreciates this every bit as much as I do. He groans quietly as Bella bends over, spreading her towel on the grass. She's my cousin, so I don't exactly look closely. I do notice, though, that she's gained a couple of kilos and they look really bloody good on her.

It's not really that much of a shock then, when the muffled grunts and moans float down the hall on the nighttime breeze, intruding Katie's and my bedroom a few hours later.

Kate looks at me, her eyes wide, hand over her mouth. I shrug.

"Honestly—" I tell her, keeping my voice low, "—with those two, I'm just glad they're in the guest room and not on our dining room table, hey?"

My wife slaps me, shaking her head. "Garrett!"

I roll my eyes. "It's happened before."

"What?!" she whisper-shouts.

"Did I never tell you about that? When they were doing the we're-not-together-but-we-act-like-we-are thing?"

She shakes her head, her expression wavering between amusement and disgust.

"Yeah." I nod my head. "They assumed I was at yours. It was heaps awkward."

* * *

><p>Nocturnal disturbances aside, there's also an added bonus to Edward and Bella being here.<p>

They freaking love my daughter.

She warmed up to them really quickly, too, so the past few mornings they've given her breakfast and taken her down to the park or the beach so Katie and I can sleep in.

"Can Bella and Ed move in permanently?" I ask as Katie moves over me, my hands on her breasts, her mouth on my neck.

"Please, yes." Her voice is strained, hot and damp on my neck. "Oh, fuck. _Fuck._"

She pushes upright, the early morning light bathing her in gold as she rocks over me. Her head is thrown back, her long hair grazing her arse, her breasts swaying as her movements become frantic

My fingers dig into her hips as her rhythm falters, keeping her moving as she shudders and gasps with her climax.

As the spasms wracking her body subside, I move her off me, rolling her over, scrambling to my knees, pulling her hips up to meet mine. Katie gasps, her elbows buckling as I fill her deeply.

Our frantic push and pull, the sound of skin slapping against skin, and our growling groans and curses are a startling contrast to the clear summer day beginning outside our window.

"Oh, fuck." My lips press against Katie's shoulder blade, and then I'm lost, getting dumped by the wave of pleasure that crashes over me.

We collapse onto the mattress, and I pull her close, fitting her gentle curves against me.

"I love you." I tell her.

Her response is mumbly and garbled. "I love you, too."

An hour and a half later, we're standing on the verandah sipping cold juice, when Lucy's giggles announce their return. She's sitting on Edward's shoulders, her round face split with a wide smile.

"Edda! Mama! Edda!"

Katie chuckles. "Have you had fun with Uncle Edward, Luce?"

"Mama! Bebba!"

"Where _is_ Bella?" Katie asks.

Edward frowns, reaching up to lift Lucy from her perch and pass her to Kate. "She slept in this morning. She wasn't feeling well. I'll just—"

"I'm okay." Bella steps out onto the deck, barefoot and sleepy-eyed, her hair tangled and chaotic. "Ugh, what is that smell?"

The three of us inhale deeply.

"I can't smell anything, love." Edward reaches for Bella, and she steps into his embrace, melting against him.

"It's fu—I mean, it's really disgusting. Like, I don't know … like rotting seaweed or something."

"The mangroves?" I frown, meeting Katie's gaze. "But you can't smell them from here—"

"I do." Katie points out. "Or, I did, anyway."

"Yeah, but only when you were—Oh. _Oh._"

Edward looks between us, Bella's head tucked under his chin, his hands gently sliding up and down her back.

"When she was what?"

I nod at Kate, and she turns to Edward, smiling.

"There're some mangroves, like, a kilometre that way," she jerks her chin. "They stink, but we can't usually smell them here. But, uh, I could smell them when I was pregnant with Lucy."

"Pregnant?"

The look on Edward's face is strange, and so is the worry-tightness it puts in my chest. He looks like—like he can't decide if this is the best or the worst thing he's ever heard.

His arms tighten around Bella, his lips finding her hair.

The effort he exerts in pulling back from her so that he can meet her eyes, is written in the lines of his face. "Sweetheart?"

Bella's shoulders rise and fall. "I don't know."

Katie puts her hand on Bella's shoulder. "I think I have a few tests under the bathroom sink. If you, uh, yeah—" She trails off, motioning for me to follow her inside.

Inside, I take Lucy from her. "Is she—They seem, I don't know—"

"I'd imagine they're scared, Gar. Bella's miscarried before," she reminds me.

I had forgotten all about that. Bella told me her story a few months after she came back to Chicago, back to Edward. I felt like a shithead for giving her so much crap—that girl had dealt with far more than I ever realized.

"What do we do?"

Katie smiles at me, her eyes shining with tears. "Whatever they need us to."

* * *

><p>Once her pee confirms that she probably is pregnant, Edward pretty much refuses to leave Bella's side for more than a few minutes. She's unfailingly patient with his hovering—which is starting to piss <em>me<em> off, and I'm not even the one being coddled.

I'm really fucking relieved when they see a doctor, and make an appointment to have an ultrasound.

Katie insisted we go out for the day, in case they had to deal with bad news, so I'm heaps nervous as we unbuckle our sleeping daughter and make our way inside.

I peek into the living room, apprehensive.

Bella is lying with her head in Edward's lap, soundly asleep. His fingers are combing through her hair.

As soon as I step into the room, he looks up, and his face tells me everything.

He's pretty much fucking glowing with joy.

My eyes burn a little, but I shake my head and offer him my hand. He shakes it firmly, not even trying to hide his own tears.

Katie looks in from the kitchen, having settled Lucy in her bed. She catches my eye over Edward's head and I nod at her, gesturing for her to grab three beers.

She returns quickly, leaning down to murmur her congratulations to Edward and press a kiss to his cheek.

We clink beer bottles and Katie asks when Bella's due.

"Mid April." He grins, relief and joy colouring his tone. "She's already fourteen weeks. We, uh, we're past the first trimester." He shakes his head, like he can't believe it.

Katie smiles, "That's wonderful."

He nods, more tears sliding down his face as his fingers brush his sleeping wife's cheek. "Bella's healthy, the babies are healthy and growing. They said everything looks perfect."

I'm so fucking ecstatic that it takes a while for me to register something. "Wait. Babies?!"

He nods, his grin huge. "Twins."

* * *

><p><strong>I love it when you guys review. It's the best, ever.<strong>

**And I'd love it even more, if you'd go read_ In the Debris_, or _On a Limb_, and review them, too. Breath-stealing stories, both of them.**

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you all so much for your love and support along this journey. It's been wonderful.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Coming soon. Put me on author alert, if you'd like ... <strong>

**Figmentum: **_1. figment, fiction, invention, unreality; 2. thing formed, devised; 3. image._ She coaxes him into existence with every word she writes. What will Bella do when she finds herself falling in love with the main character in her latest novel? Bella & Edward, Romance & Angst.

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><p><strong>Peace!<strong>

Help us spread awareness of Peace Day, an annual day of global ceasefire and non-violence.

Recognizing that fanfiction readers and authors are a huge, connected community, we are encouraging you to use your collective power to make a difference in the world.

The non-profit organization Peace One Day led the process that resulted in the UN declaring September 21st as Peace Day. Every year, Peace One Day partners with a range of organizations from around the world to raise awareness of the day and to encourage Peace Day activities by all sectors of society, including life-saving activities in the name of peace — things like distribution of humanitarian aid, vaccinations, and trainings that help people improve their lives. Through efforts like this, in 2008, Peace Day marked a 70% reduction in violent incidents in Afghanistan. Ceasefire agreements by all parties to conflict in the country, including the Taliban, resulted in millions of children being vaccinated because health and aid workers were able to travel without fear for their lives.

This year, Peace One Day is working to see the largest global reduction of violence, and the largest gathering of individuals in the name of peace, on one day – Peace Day 2012. The Global Truce 2012 campaign will set an important marker for future Peace Days and reinforce the value of this unique annual day as a foundation for long-term sustainable peace.

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Use your power within the fandom to spread the word.

Visit peaceoneday dot org /fanfiction-for-peace/ and sign-up for the Global Truce campaign Tweet for Peace! Spread the word with your followers. We're using the #fanfic4peace hash tag. Let's see if we can get it to trend!

Tell your friends! Share this message with friends both in your fandom, in other fandoms, and in the RL! Peace Day, September 21, is everyone's legacy. And if it isn't everyone's, it's not going to work.


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